


His Darling, Among Lilies and Roses

by grizzly_bear_bane



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Romance, Bonding, Coming of Age, Eames's heart thaws for no one else but Arthur, First Crush, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Renaissance Era, Size Kink, Werewolf King!Eames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 130,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur felt as fragile as a little bird under the King’s wolfish gaze, even as the man offered him a gentle smile that nearly stole his breath away.</p><p>To think, when he’d woken up this morning, not even his eldest brothers had their thrones, and yet Arthur would now have his before his seventeenth birthday. </p><p>Just the thought alone, of marriage and…and of whatever came with being married, made him want to hide under Mal’s chair, like he used to when he was little, until the King chose her instead of him, as it was supposed to have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ABOUT THE BIOLOGY: Basically, alphas knot, betas don't, and male omegas have a separate sex orifice for mating that, when they aren't aroused, is hidden in their perineum. :3]
> 
> All I can say is that I've had this fic on my mind for a long time, and couldn't be more happier that tamat9 encouraged me to finally write it. Thanks to redxluna, for greatly aiding the research as well.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this as much as I do. :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [now beta'd by jikeidannin]

++++

+

Arthur paced the floor of the parlor, his hands shaking. The king would be here any minute. His heart thrummed with nervousness.

He wanted to go home, back to Milecomté, to his own rooms, to his mother and father, his palace gardens, and maps of star constellations, where his life had been simple, easy. There had been no such weight on him in his father’s kingdom, where Arthur was the youngest of five and his sole responsibility was to stand in his sister Mallorie’s shadow making sure her gown hems didn’t snag on a rock or a crack in the pavement. 

To think, when he’d woken up this morning, not even his eldest brothers had their thrones, and yet Arthur would now have his before his seventeenth birthday. Just the thought alone, of marriage and…and of whatever came with being married, made him want to hide under Mallorie’s chair, like he used to when he was little, until the King chose her instead of him, as it was supposed to have happened.

A fog was rolling in over the hills. It would rain soon. Arthur stood in front the large, stone window, gazing out over the grounds and the Engston countryside beyond the moat. He watched the groups of saddened beta royals below leave the palace, carriage by carrage, now that the festival was over and the King had an engagment prepared. Arthur picked at a minuscule snag in the golden, embroidered hem of his short tunic and smoothed his hands over his tights once more, making sure he looked presentable.

His older sister stood behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder. She twinned their hands together. “I too am homesick for Milecomté,” she sighed, “but I think you’ll grow to like it here.”

“I don’t know, Mal. What if—”

“You dislike him?”

“I don’t know him.” He shrugged. “I only know of his wars and the chaos with which he gained his inheritance. He could be exactly like your ladies said—A tyrant, a monster… Our families don’t exactly have a peaceful history, Mal. Besides, even if he weren’t a werewolf alpha and king, he’s still older. He has experience, he’s strong and powerful, and didn’t you see how everyone fawned over him in his court? In comparison, I’m… I’m…” His shoulders sank.

“You are an omega,” Mal stated, “rare and prized, and a beautiful prince. Don’t worry.” She planted a kiss on his cheek as footsteps and muttered voices echoed from the corridor. “Just be yourself, Arthur.”

He attempted a half smile over his shoulder at her, watching her return to her chair. Several of her ladies-in-waiting rushed over to him to inspect his appearance one final time, before hurrying back to their place near Mal on the cushions and couches.

Arthur’s throat was suddenly dry when the guard announced the King’s entrance. He bowed low, trying not to let his eyes linger on the handsomely formed legs under the King’s tights, or on the noticeable size of his codpiece below his belted doublet. Arthur’s knees were a little weak when he kissed the offered hand and its glittering rings.

“Your Majesty,” he managed to whisper to his feet.

“Now, now, young Prince,” the King spoke slowly, thankfully, so that Arthur could understand his words, already well aware of Arthur’s limited grasp of the language. “I don’t intend to be rude, but, if it is custom in your father’s country to stare at the ground in front of your king, please know that in mine, when being addressed, we look one another in the eyes.”

He swallowed, just as the King’s hand cupped his chin and lifted his face.

Arthur looked the man in the eyes for only the second time since the King had ordered him to do so in front of the court the evening before. He felt as fragile as a little bird under the King’s wolfish gaze, even as the man offered him a gentle smile that nearly stole his breath away.

He quickly dropped his eyes. The King’s rumbling chuckle sent a shiver through him, making him blush.

In all the sixteen years of his life, Arthur had never had trouble admitting that he preferred living in his elder sister’s shadow. It was an opinion that rang true now more than it ever had.

+

++

 

Arthur sat in the corner of his sister’s lavish parlor with his puppy in his lap.

One of Mal’s ladies combed the dark curls framing his face and neck. He watched his sister circle the tiled floor, the tiny jewels on her gown shimmering in the sunlight.

An envoy from the Engston court had arrived in Milecomté that morning with news. Mal had been pacing the floor since then, waiting for word from their father.

She shooed away one of the younger girls, who’d politely urged her not to chew on her nails. Mal had also long since removed her shoes.

The lady combing Arthur’s hair shook her head when Mal turned her back. “It's grown past your shoulders, young Highness. May I trim it for you, after supper?”

“Yes, please,” he smiled, happy to give her something to do, rather than letting her fret like Mal and the others.

Mal paused in front of an old tapestry, her eyes nearly wild as she spoke. “This meeting with the envoy shall be my undoing. I know it.”

All her ladies, even the one pampering Arthur, rushed to deny Mal’s claim with hearty reassurances. His dog yelped at the commotion as Arthur remained out of the way of Mal’s resumed pacing.

“If the Engston King is shopping for a wife and I am chosen? I will never be able to see my Dominic ever again. That is no life I wish to live.”

“Is it true that the Eameses are werewolves,” one lady asked in a hushed voice.

“It is,” another answered, still braiding her nearly floor length hair as she and the others continued to cluster near Mal. “His entire royal court, really. No one knows how the first Eameses were turned, but the King, much like his father, was born a werewolf. The King gives the bite only to his most trusted and favored subjects.”

“I heard that the King’s grandfather descended from the mountains of Wolfshire as terrible as a nightmare and sacked what was once land owned by the Cobbs for their fortresses. Then once his son was in charge, he cozied up to the Fischers, only to betray young Robert’s father and rob him of the Engston crown, not soon after.”

“What of the wolf king’s son, the current king, then?”

“My husband has told me that he's a devil of a man, godly handsome and sharp, but always hungry for war and conquest. His Lord Chancellor, a man from Sansar, is perhaps the only man in his court who doesn’t carry a scar or two from the King and his tantrums, other than the bite, of couse. The King's rage is only exacerbated by his bloodlines.”

The eldest lady shook her head. “Don’t listen to such gossip, Marisol,” she cautioned to the girl who'd asked.

“You call me a liar?”

“I call you and your husband naïve, madam. Tell me, what new news of the Ensgton king shall we hear next? That he is secretly an omega, perhaps?”

Several ladies giggled. “Wouldn’t that be something? There hasn’t been a single omega born in any kingdom since…well, perhaps our Majesty’s great-grandmother?”

“Indeed! So many generations of hot-headed alphas, with their beta subjects and their beta wives and beta offspring.”

Mal ignored their chatter, but stopped her circling again, when Arthur caught her eye. It was easy for her to forget the quiet boy sometimes. Most people often did.

He joined her on the couch when she patted the cushion beside her. His dog pawed up at his knees until Mal reach over and picked her up, her little tail wagging at the attention Mal gave her.

Arthur was momentarily afraid of the tears he saw clinging to Mal’s lashes. “Do you really think he’ll pick you? Can’t our father be swayed elsewhere?”

She shook her head, her eyes on the dog. “It happens, every so often, that a king will be lazy in picking their spouse, so they’ll beckon every unpromised woman or girl to their court so they can pick over us like so much food on a platter. And no matter the rumors, or ties to the fallen House of Fischer or the Cobbs, King Eames rules Engston. Any ruler of that kingdom is one best kept in your family’s favor. A marriage to King Eames would guarantee an alliance and protection.”

“But our brothers… They—”

“—are still nothing more than aging beta princes, with no kingdoms of their own so long as our father lives. Meanwhile, Henry Eames continues to gain more power.” She sighed. “You’re lucky, my Arthur. You are neither firstborn nor a princess bred for being bartered off. You were conceived purely out of love, and for that reason, you must never take your freedom for granted. Heed my advice. Don’t hesitate in your affections for our cousin, Robert—”

“No, no. We only write each other, that’s all,” he cut in quickly, eyes wide.

Mal smiled fondly. “And yet you blush whenever you hear his name, and let’s not speak of how giddy you are when a messenger comes riding over the hill from the Fischer castle with one of those letters. What? He’s a very sweet boy!” She tossed up her hands in mock defeat when he only narrowed his eyes, responding with a glare. “Well, then when you are both older and have wives, you both should still…write each other, as you said. Continue to share your feelings.”

He softened his glare. “We’re aren’t—I mean, we’re not…” He sighed, flustered. “At least…not like you and Dom. You love Dominic very much. What’s that like, Mal, to be in love with someone?”

Instantly he regretted asking when she looked away. Mal took several shaking breaths, her eyes clouded with fresh tears as she offered Arthur a sad smile.

The guard stepped into the parlor, announcing their father’s arrival. The Engston envoy followed King Miles.

Mal handed Arthur his puppy and kissed his cheek. “When the day comes that you find true love, you will know it. It’s indescribable,” she explained, staying close enough to whisper as they stepped forward, braced for their father’s news.

+

 

The Engston palace was alive with music and festivities in celebration of King Eames’ twenty-fourth birthday. The gardens were all decorated with tents for pastry treats and wine sampling from the local wineries. Tall bushes were trimmed into larger than life replicas of the King in his wolf form along with his knights and assembled to illustrate scenes from his greatest battles.

Arthur kept his dog tucked under his cloak as he lounged on plush cushions with Mal on a boat tour around the palace. He dozed in the afternoon sun while one of Mal’s ladies helped her practice the King’s language.

“Your Highness,” the lady urged him gently with a smile, “you should pay attention to your sister’s lessons. If, or perhaps, when, today goes well, and she becomes the Queen of Engston, I imagine you’ll be here with her quite often.”

He frowned. “Lady Nicole, please. You’re making my sister nervous.” He glanced at Mal. She wasn’t listening to them, her attention long since gone, perhaps to dreams of her Dominic, far away. “I hope the King doesn’t choose my sister. I hope he picks someone else so that we can all go home.”

 

“Yusuf?” Eames asked with an unflatteringly tight voice. “Isn’t all this a bit much?”

His Lord Chancellor hummed from his perch on the windowsill, peering out at all the people below. The elder werewolf glanced over his shoulder at Eames. “Fear not, my friend. You’ll thank me once you get to see these betas up close, scent their lovely pheromones, catch a dance or two, see a slip of an ankle under a gown…or at the very least, pick a few bedmates, if not a wife.” He shrugged.

“I understand all that, but—” Eames growled when one of the seamstresses pulled the strings on his new doublet even harder than before, “does this bloody thing have to be so tight?”

“Of course! Beauty is pain, and right now, alpha and beta kings, princes, dukes, the world over, are envious of your kingdom and power. Why not make them hate you even more by being the most strapping and seductive king as well? You want every beta drooling on the floor when you arrive. The only thing they’ll be hungry for is you.” Yusuf patted Eames’ cheek, laughing at the King’s angry pout. He looked down suddenly, his eyes wide. “My goodness, your Majesty, I think I rather like these tights on you.”

“Why?” Eames demanded, looking down at himself as if searching for a bug or a snag in the fabric. “What’s wrong?”

Yusuf nodded appreciatively as the seamstresses finished their work. “Eamesie, you may very well be the one man, in the entire world, who ought never to wear tights. That codpiece on you is obscene.”

“Why for one second did I ever let you dress me? I have to change, I can't wear this. Yusuf, I swear—” but he was shushed as Yusuf adjusted his collar chain across his shoulders one last time and pushed him towards the door.

 

“His Royal Majesty, King Henry Eames, Ruler of Engston, Eameston, and Wolfshire, Defender of the Isles, and Lord of the Northern Saxons,” the royal court marshal announced as the King made his appearance in the sunlit hall, flanked by his entourage and two massive grey and tawny wolves.

The place was abuzz with whispers, as most of the guests, who had never seen the King in person, pressed past each other for a glimpse of the handsome alpha.

Arthur quickly scooped his puppy off the floor, distracted by her nervous whining.

He shushed her just as the King took his seat. Many of the women hurried forward to kiss the alpha's hand. The only alpha princess was quickly escorted out by two of the guards.

The King’s scent was very distinct, as were all alpha’s, but his, Arthur noticed, was different. It held an alpha’s usual potency, but none of the alphas Arthur had smelled before had ever reminded him of apples and cinnamon.

He caught a glimpse of the man soon enough. King Eames personified power and virility even as he slouched, clearly bored, at the front of the hall. His jeweled gold collar chain gleamed in the early evening light, its sapphires complimenting his doublet and tights. Even his beard was trimmed finely. Arthur could only imagine what he looked like under his clothes, and was surprised that such a thought would even cross his mind.

“Your Highness,” Mal’s lady whispered to her, “you should go quickly to meet him, before all the ugly girls scare him off.”

Mal didn’t look overly thrilled. She brushed aside Arthur’s hair and leaned in close to his ear. “Thank you for coming here with me.” She kissed his cheek. “You must be bored by all this spectacle.”

Arthur tugged at the collar of the amber and black tunic Mal had had made for him to match her gown. He felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him in the crowded hall, like he’d been struck with a fever that lasted only a moment.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Mal eyed him closely. “You’re flushed, and you...smell different.”

He frowned at her strange observation and shrugged as his temperature stabilized. “Perhaps I’m just tired. I’ve never traveled so far out of the kingdom before,” he supposed, even though his reasoning didn’t account for the tinge of pain between his legs that had followed the temperature spike.

She nodded, her hand on his forehead. “Eat something. With any luck, this will be over soon.”

Arthur wandered off towards a table piled with food as he groaned, voicing what both he and Mal were really thinking. The line of women eager to meet the King was long enough, even without those who were busy dancing and those sneaking kisses with members of the King’s entourage wherever they found a secluded corner or doorway.

By the look of things, the King’s festival could very well drag long into the night. Arthur was instantly bored.

 

Eames suppressed the urge to yawn in front of the sea of betas princesses, duchesses, and marquises throughout the hall, all dancing and intermingling with his court.

The King sighed like a bull as he slouched lower in his chair, trying to get comfortable, though his heavily ornate doublet still felt constricting. “Yusuf, I swear I’ll rip your head off for this,” he grumbled, sitting with his head propped in his hand.

“For a werewolf alpha inclined to ripping off heads, you certainly have a flare for whining like a little child as well, your Majesty.” Yusuf quickly cleared his throat when two of the beta princesses approached the King, ending his conversation. He watched women curtsey, their breast nearly pouring out of their low cut bodices, and the way Eames shifted awkwardly in his chair. His cheeks were coloring, so faint only another werewolf would notice. Yusuf bit his tongue to hold back his smile.

“That wasn’t funny, Yusuf,” Eames murmured.

“Oh, but it was, your Majesty,” he murmured back, close to the King’s ear for show. “This is the sort of thing that ought to remind you exactly why this festival is necessary. If you’re going to convince these people and any potential new ally kingdoms that you support diplomacy and peace, then you’re going to have to first stop threatening everyone, including me, with beheading, and second, my friend, you’re going to have to learn how to talk to these women," he continued over Eames' low groaning, “without blushing or scaring them off. Consider this as… practice _and_ the test itself, considering that finding a mate is what this festival is really for. God knows, you haven’t actually celebrated your birthday since you were handed the crown.”

“Ah yes, and I’m sure this will all make up for the mess I’m certain to make once my werewolf rut sets in a week from now. Whoever I pick as my future queen will certainly love witnessing me turn into a horny rage monster.” He rolled his eyes.

“Nonsense. She’ll be flattered that the greatest alpha king to ever live would turn into a ferocious beast, driven wild with the need to mate her. Highly romantic.”

Eames grunted. “I’d rather be out hunting with you and the boys than sitting through this, Yusuf. Look at how lovely the skies were today, and yet you’ve had me cooped up in here all day in this stifling costume.”

 

Arthur spent most of the early evening watching the sun set, stealing grapes from the table for himself and his dog, and wondering why the werewolves stared at him and whispered when they passed by. His human ears couldn’t catch what they said, but he could sense it. He hugged his puppy close and prayed that the King would make a decision soon.

Perhaps if Mal were picked as his queen, it wouldn’t be completely terrible. After all, it was clear, at least on the surface, that with their countries united, the King could bring them protection and prosperity, take care of their parents and older siblings…

What was more, his court and subjects didn’t seem to be very heartbroken or hostile under his rule. They looked to the King with respect, and reverence to those chosen from their former court for the werewolf bite.

He glanced over again at the King through a gap in the people clustered here and there. He could see now how the Cobbs and Fischers could lose territories to such a formidable alpha. The setting sun and lit candles played shadows across the tight cut of the King’s clothes, highlighting his defined arms, chest, and abdomen, and down his splayed legs. He reminded Arthur of the wolf he’d seen on the edge of the forest once when he was younger, and the way it sat in the damp grass, its mouth still dripping with the blood of its kill while the pack continued to fill their bellies. The wolf had been watching young Arthur, as if its eyes could see straight to the core of his fear and awe. It had been equally intimating and…enchanting, just as the King was now.

Arthur stumbled as if drunk when a fresh wave of warmth spread through him without warning. He blinked, trying to regain his composure.

“Arthur? How are you feeling now?” his sister asked as soon as she found him.

“I’m fine,” Arthur lied. Ignoring her frown, he asked, “Mal, am I doing something wrong? Why are they staring at me?”

She heaved a great sigh. “They are staring because, as Lady Nicole told us prior to arriving in Engston, had you been paying attention, werewolves despise dogs.” She shook her head, watching Arthur’s shoulders sink. “Why on earth did you bring her? What were you thinking, Arthur?”

Just as he prepared to answer, a voice drifted from behind him.

“Excuse me, young sir.” The man looked to be a guard. He eyed Arthur’s dog with a thinly veiled, sour expression. “Dogs are not permitted in court. Allow me,” he offered, his arms out to receive the dog.

“Will you take her to Lady Christine? She will keep her in our rooms.”

He gave the guard his dog reluctantly, listening to her whine and struggle in his hands, trying to get back to Arthur.

Mal was trying to cheer him up though he didn’t notice at all. Without his dog held his to chest, he could feel the true intensity of the fever now as it rolled through him. He didn’t feel sick, only…hot. Uncomfortably hot.

Again, it dissipated as quickly as it had come, now replaced by the returning ache between his legs. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, totally unlike the pleasure his body would conjure up when reading one of Robert’s more risqué letters.

And then he shivered, when the King’s scent drifted his way, stronger than before, making the ache that much more severe.

Mal placed her hand on his cheek, her eyes searching. "Arthur, you... Oh my god..."

"Mal?"

She smiled in awe. "Do you have any idea of what magnificent thing is happening to you?"

 

“Breathe in that lovely beta scent,” Yusuf had been saying.

Eames did, inhaling deeply. “They all smell like various flowers,” he muttered.

“Indeed.” Yusuf smiled with content. “You have such a fine, fine garden of flowers to pick from.”

“I hate flowers.”

The elder werewolf cut his eye at the King, at last letting a slip of his irritation show. His brow furrowed at the odd, distracted expression on Eames. “Something wrong, your Majesty?”

“No, just…a particular scent…” He inhaled again, using his werewolf senses to dissect the scent so mingled with the other people surrounding it.

A group of younger girls and boys ran past Yusuf and the King, bringing the air and the scent back. It was like Eames’ favorite melon dessert and prime Wolfshire whiskey. Something else, something primal lay just underneath, making Eames' mouth water and fangs descend, itching to bite and claim whoever possessed that scent.

“Your Majesty?” Yusuf pressed again.

“Yusuf,” the King muttered, careful not to lose the scent, “there is an omega here.”

Yusuf balked. “You’re right, sir. I think this festival wasn’t the best idea, if it has caused you to lose your mind. There hasn’t been an omega in—”

“There is an omega here,” he demanded in a voice only Yusuf could hear. The music stopped and the people all looked towards the King curiously when he stood up abruptly.

“My god…” Yusuf whispered in wonder, looking out over the hall, searching.

Like a spark catching on dry wood, the scent traveled until even the humans could detect its presence. As most of the people’s attention was turned inward, looking amongst each other for the omega, Eames jutted his chin in the direction of one of the tables. “Who is that in the amber and black?”

“That would be Princess Mallorie de Milecomté, from Duval. Shall I send for her?”

“No. I’ll go to her, to be certain.” 

Those standing closest to the King quickly knelt as he stepped forward. He let his nose guide him through the crowd, uncaring of the heartbroken women he left in tears, as he scented a few of them and continued past, crushing their hopes.

He was soon met with a crowd of turned backs, distracted as they gathered around the woman he sought and the boy Yusuf informed him was her brother.

Arthur felt his back touch the stone wall behind him. He and his sister had been cornered and he hadn’t the slightest idea why. He wanted to melt through the cracks in the stone and disappear.

The sea parted slowly as Eames’ presence in the crowd was made known. Eames heard their murmuring as he approached, but he tuned out their senseless chatter, knowing that they were all mistaken. The woman was the omega. Eames was certain.

Until the woman bowed, moving her long hair aside for him to scent her.

The King buried his face in her neck for a long time. The scent was there, but faint. Too faint to belong to her.

Arthur’s shock didn’t lessen with the werewolf King standing tall and broad before him with only Mal between them. He stared at the King’s feet, wide eyed, his lips parted, as the fever receded once again.

“Arthur,” Mal hissed, still bowing like the others, “for God’s sake, don’t stand there. _Kneel_. Do it now.”

His mouth snapped shut, his cheeks coloring. He moved to kneel quickly, but was surprised when the King’s hand caught his throat in a secure hold. He blinked and found himself pressed to the King’s chest as the werewolf scented him, or rather, was lost in the scent of him.

And Arthur was no better, lost in the King’s scent as well.

Arthur felt more than a little drunk when the King stepped back, the werewolf’s eyes glowing golden before he blinked.

The King cupped his face in one large hand, lifting up his chin. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low.

Arthur tried, shaking with fear as the King’s eyes pierced his.

“ _He’s_ an omega?” the crowd began to whisper.

“Impossible…”

“What use does any lover of women have with a male omega?” Arthur heard one ask to another.

“ _Plenty_ … Just look at those legs and that adorable face…”

“He’s beautiful…”

“And smells wonderful…”

“Like Donatello’s young David…”

“Or a Botticelli youth…”

The King snarled, silencing them all. Arthur flinched at the sound and the sight of the King’s bared teeth. He quickly dropped his eyes when the werewolf turned towards him again.

The King’s fingertips traced his cheek before moving forward to scent him one more time. Arthur clasped his hands behind his back, pinching his wrist, knowing it would prove this to be some bizarre dream that would end, and end fast, because this couldn’t be real.

“Young prince,” Arthur heard the King say, “I shall meet with you and those present from your father’s household in your rooms once they’ve been prepared for your extended stay. Rest for now. Perhaps in the morning you shall have overcome your shyness by then.”

A few people laughed quietly, further confusing Arthur until he realized that the King was still waiting for his response. He nodded quickly, searching for his voice. “Yes…” he muttered at last to the King’s chest. “Yes, your Majesty. Of course.”

His only saving grace was that he remembered to bow this time, though the King’s back was already turned now that he and his Lord Chancellor made their way back to the front of the hall.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if this chapter gets too...technical and anatomical.

+

 

Eames chewed on his bottom lip, lost in his thoughts. His men and wolves watched him make several aborted attempts to go meet the omega formally. Each time he stood and gathered his resolve, he changed his mind.

Yusuf sighed for the hundredth time. “Your Majesty, will you keep the young prince waiting?” He was met with another of Eames’ whining growls and sighed again. “We still have an appointment with the envoy and physician today. It’s best not to keep either of them waiting.”

“Perhaps I should…give him a week or two to settle in before—”

“No, no, no, no, no, Majesty. A matter like this has to be settled at once. It’s only been a night and a morning, but now that the parties are leaving, word will spread quickly.”

“Doesn’t it always?”

“Your Majesty, we must have the doctor examine the boy today, because if we’re not one-hundred percent certain that he’s an omega, your kingdom's future will be a stake. A beta boy, pretty or not, is incapable of giving you heirs.”

“I already know he’s an omega, Yusuf. That’s not the problem.”

Yusuf studied him for a moment. He inhaled deeply, at once understanding. “He’s causing an early rut for you, isn’t he?”

That was an understatement. His seamstresses had had quite a difficult morning trying to fashion a codpiece that fit him comfortably. “Yes.”

“Which is why you need to see him now before you completely lose your wits.”

“I’ve already lost my wits. All I can think about, all I want, is just to tear off his clothes and—”

“If you put off this meeting, and word reaches King Miles that his youngest son is an omega still yet to be claimed, after however long your stalling takes? His father will have every right to send for him and his sister, and you will have to let him leave. Would you risk letting him go? His father is not your ally. This omega could be married off to some lesser king at once.”

Eames’ brow shot up, his eyes glowing golden. “You think I would let him go? Yusuf, you of all people should know not underestimate me.”

He frowned, putting his hand out to still the King’s pacing. “If the boy is unpromised, you have no right to him.”

“I don’t?”

Yusuf stepped back, hearing his challenge. “You would rape the boy to keep him?”

Eames’ mouth was open, ready to give a hearty ‘yes,’ but paused at Yusuf’s disappointed glare. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Do you see what I mean, Yusuf, when I say I’ve lost my wits? Of course, I would never defile anyone. Not in my right mind, that is, but I feel very far from my right mind.”

The elder wolf still wouldn't budge.

Eames sighed, crossing his arms. “Fine. Have the physician and envoy meet with us, then. Do it quickly. But I shouldn’t be in the room, when…” Just thinking of the omega disrobing was—

Yusuf patted his cheek, bringing him back. “You have to be there, your Majesty. He is your omega. You must set an example of restraint and control, and mostly importantly, if you wish for this omega to be receptive to you, it would be best to be near him whenever possible. Let him grow accustomed to your presence, quickly.”

“How the bloody hell do I do that? His scent was drenched with fear last night when I approached him during the festival.”

Yusuf shrugged. “His sister? Impress her, perhaps, and show the boy that you’re not a horny rage monster.”

Eames glared as they walked. “I remember someone yesterday informing me that a horny rage monster was highly romantic.”

He tossed up his hands. “I was drunk! You mustn’t ever listen to what I say when there’s a room full wine and women, My King.”

“Sometimes I wonder how we ever manage, you and I.”

“Don’t worry, Majesty. When the day is done, we’ll all away to the forest on a hunt and let you sink your teeth into something meaty. Perhaps that’ll get your rut under better control.” So he hoped.

+

 

The Royal Envoy from Milecomté sat back in his chair, eyeing the Engston Lord Chancellor with a smug expression. “Your Royal Majesty, and Lord Chancellor,” he spoke carefully, framing his words as he admired the rings on his own hand with a bored demeanor, “you must understand that, under these altered circumstances, the previsions set forth by my father, his Majesty King Miles, in the event that my sister, his _princess,_ be chosen as your wife, have now greatly increased, as I’m certain you understand, your Majesty. It is a great honor to have an omega in our family. Therefore, we must take every precaution to ensure that your kingdom can suit his and our needs best over any other potential suitor.”

“Indeed, your Highness,” Yusuf nodded. “We would expect nothing less.”

The Envoy, Eames observed as he paid no attention to the issue at hand, possessed none of his younger siblings’ grace or beauty. He glanced at the two sitting on the far side of the room with a book between them.

“However,” Yusuf continued, passing documents across the table for the Envoy, “we have certain stipulations, drafted here, that must be met before an agreement can be made.”

Every now and then, Eames would catch Arthur looking up at him when his attention drifted from the book’s pages. Their eyes would meet and Arthur would quickly look away, a timid little smile playing at his lips. It tugged at Eames’ heart and made him anxious to get the chance to be near him again.

The Envoy took his time reading over the long parchment before signing it. “Very well.” He stood. “I shall depart to my errand in the north and return in a few days to finalize our kingdoms’ union. Gentlemen," he bowed, not bothering to address his siblings, "Good day."

No sooner had he left than the room began to fill with the King’s Parliament leaders, the senior cardinals and high priests from the Church, and the doctor's team, who ushered out the King’s entourage and all but two of Mal’s highest ranked ladies.

Eames tried his best to act natural around Arthur with so many people watching them closely. He had no idea that the day he’d faced a dragon four times his size, alone and in his human form, would be easier to manage than simply standing in a room and talking to his intended mate.

“Still shy?” he asked, teasing the quiet, blushing boy. “What a pity, however I can hardly blame you with this audience we've collected.”

“Forgive him, your Majesty,” Mal offered, stepping beside her brother. “Our Arthur isn’t used to so much attention.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” he muttered to her, his thumbs caressing Arthur’s cheeks as he cupped his face, coaxing more color to the surface. “A beautiful omega hidden in a world of betas?” he mused, “I only hope you’ll forgive me for stealing your dear brother away from the suitors his father must have lined up.”

Arthur glanced to his sister, envious of how she interacted so easily with the people present, how quickly she spoke in their language. At last he found his voice. “I didn’t know, before, your Majesty, that I was a…” He breathed in the alpha’s scent, losing his train of thought. His skin tingled under the King’s gentle petting.

"Lucky for me, perhaps. I may have never found you otherwise." The King looked away, distracted as he was called into conversation with the political leaders.

Immediately, Arthur missed his attention, but there was something more pressing on his mind. “Mal," he spoke softly, "I don’t understand. Why are all these people here?”

“If I may, your Highness,” the eldest of the clergy offered. “We are his Majesty's privy council, here to witness the confirmation of your omega status, the report on your health, and most importantly, the blessing of your womb, that you may provide his Majesty’s kingdom with a palace full of heirs.”

All the color drained at once from Arthur’s face, his ears rung, his stomach felt as if it had turned to stone.

The doctor covered the center table with a large sheet and began placing his tools to one side. The priests and cardinals began their own preparations as well, circling the room slowly, filling it with their incense smoke and the prayers they chanted.

The doctor’s assistants raised another sheet of linen in a corner where the doctor led Arthur and Mal’s remaining ladies with instructions to change into the bed gown he’d provided.

Arthur was speechless, too mortified to do more than let the ladies undress him. He felt like a doll as the too large and terribly shear gown hung from his shoulders. He shivered as the stone floor sucked the warmth from the soles of his feet.

The room felt small and cramped, suffocating. He kept his arms crossed tightly, his shoulders hunched as the doctor guided him towards the table. Eyes as wide as an owl’s, he tried not to look at any of the unfamiliar faces surrounding him while he searched for Mal.

The remaining sheets were propped up on poles held by the doctor’s assistants around the table, creating a divider between Arthur and the others present. He was beyond grateful for the seclusion the sheets offered when the witnesses all crowded forward on the other side of the linen to listen.

“Your Highness,” the doctor prompted. 

His chest felt tight. “Where is my sister?”

From behind the sheet, the priest’s voice rang out. “Is it improper for a lady of such high status to be present during the inspection, your Highness.”

Arthur flinched with surprise when the King appeared at his side and took his hand. He was sure he would faint with every ounce of blood in his body now rushed to his cheeks and ears. For a moment, he felt as if he’d die when the doctor made him lay down on his back.

The King held his hand throughout the examination, stroking his hair, and thankfully ignoring the stream of tears that Arthur couldn’t control when he felt the doctor’s hands prodding his neck, chest, all the way to his pelvis and across the soreness that plagued his most private area.

After a while, the doctor smiled. “Your Majesty, it pleases me to confirm that his Highness is indeed an omega,” he stated. The room filled with happy murmurs and praise for the King's good fortune.

The King’s chest swelled with pride. "Excellent, doctor. Thank you." The alpha wasn’t trying to look between his opened legs when Arthur glanced up at him. He was looking down at Arthur’s face with golden, hungry eyes, but his smile was gentle, soothing even. Arthur found himself relaxing more and more with the King’s hand in his hair and that calming smile gracing his full lips.

“Your Majesty, there is a problem here,” the doctor reported, causing a flurry of whispers amongst the crowd.

The King’s grip on Arthur’s hand tightened. His brow rose in question. “What sort of problem?”

The doctor pressed Arthur’s perineum again and nodded. “The womb has not yet opened, your Majesty.”

“Pardon me, sir,” Mal’s eldest lady spoke softly, stepping forward past the curtain of linens to take Arthur’s hand opposite the King, “I was Arthur’s nursemaid when he was a child. Nursemaids are required to have a basic understanding of both female and male omegas, you see. In the event that one may be born, we are always prepared. What knowledge I have is limited, but believe me when I say that these things are meant to happen at a gradual pace. Arthur’s heat is only a day old, your Majesty. He informed me this morning that he was in little pain, so I examined him myself. He looked to be at a perfectly healthy stage of development.”

“How does a male omega's body conceive?” one politician inquired.

“The womb remains undetectable until an alpha, such as his Majesty, inspires the first heat. An opening forms in the perineum tissue, creating a channel, but this opening will remain hidden, once fully developed, protected by a seal, much similar to a young maidens, until his Highness is made receptive by his Majesty during copulation,” she informed them. “Which is why, doctor, I must ask—Surely in another day or so, he—”

“I beg _your_ pardon, Madam,” the doctor condescended, “but I think it best that we leave his health in my hands, as I am the King’s royal physician.”

She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes worried as she saw Arthur’s tear streaked face. “Have you ever treated an omega, sir?” she asked, politely. 

“You surely know the answer to that, Madam,” he scoffed. “Who among us has? But I am trained, nonetheless. Now, if you will allow me?” When she bowed and stepped back, he turned to the King. “Your Majesty, wherein such a channel exists, no outward sign is yet visible. I must fix this at once, your Majesty.”

“But—” Arthur tried, but he was silenced by the doctor and priest as they talked over him through the curtain.

Eames could hardly keep up with what was happening. With the beta doctor too smug for his own good, standing between his omega’s legs with his hands on him, Eames just wanted to run everyone off. His rut was getting unbearable, his senses overwhelmed by Arthur’s scent, his proximity, the softness of those bare legs he wanted to touch so badly. He cleared his throat. “You are certain this won’t happen naturally, with time, doctor?”

“Oh yes, your Majesty, but I’m afraid that could be quite a long while. With your permission, I could perform a simple incision to accelerate this process, so that he may be ready in time of the marriage bed.”

Yusuf hurried through the curtain, his brow raised with growing concern. “I’m sure that’s not—”

The King held up his hand and nodded at once, his eyes still golden and clouded with his rut as they glared at Yusuf, ordering him to back down. “Do what you must, good doctor.”

“But, your Majesty, please.” Arthur clamped his legs shut, trying to sit up. He looked to the King with pleading eyes. “I—”

“Not to worry, your Highness,” the doctor smiled, patting his knee. “This will be perfectly painless, and any discomfort should only last for a moment or so. The King’s favor and God’s mercy will aid you to a fast recovery.”

 

Arthur spent the next several days in bed, unable to move without agony.

From the doorway, Eames watched Mal help Arthur with his signature on the marriage contract. Their older brother stood at the foot of the bed, aloof as ever.

The new physician met Eames in the next room. “Your Majesty.” He bowed, nervously eyeing the werewolves lounged on the sofas and the wolves that paced the rug.

"Doctor." Eames approached him at once, ordering everyone else to leave. “Has he recovered?”

“He has, although… Your Majesty, I do not wish to meet the same end as the last doctor, so I will not serve my hypothesis to you as fact.”

“That man was a fool,” the King growled, the taste of the doctor’s heart still fresh in his mind. His omega’s blood still stained the study floor rugs. He wished he’d taken his time when he’d killed the man. “I highly doubt that you could do worse.”

“Thank you, your Gracious Majesty." He glanced over his shoulder at the boy in bed. “It’s difficult to know anything definitive about omegas, as there hasn’t been one in several generations, but from my understanding of the text I’ve read, forcing his body to open faster only slowed things down more. The first heat, you see, is most critical, because it could mean the difference between a fertile, receptive omega and one that may never fully develop. Judging by the look of it—”

“Look of what?” the King asked impatiently, tired with the man’s prudish rambling.

“The… His...” He made odd gestures with his hands, his brow furrowed and ears red. “I’m not entirely sure what to call it, to be honest. It is a womb, yes, but the anatomy of male omegas is quite different—”

“Do they not perform the same function?”

The doctor’s eyes lowered, his whole face turning red. “Yes, that’s true. What I mean to say is that…until his body is ready to…” he made more vague gestures, “to receive you as his mate, his heat will not come.”

“But he’s already in heat. That’s why my rut—”

“No, sir. His heat was interrupted, therefore it has ceased, for now. Had the doctor not rushed things, the omega would have been fully developed, fully receptive perhaps, in a week. Now, it may be a month more before you can successfully bond him, your Majesty.”

“His name is Arthur,” Mal spoke as she neared them, ending their conversation, her eyes locking the doctor in a cold stare. “He is not a specimen, nor chattel, doctor. I request that you not speak of him as such.”

The doctor stuttered, bowing awkwardly low before the Princess. “My apologies, your Highness.”

“That will be all.” The King waved his hand, preventing the doctor from saying more. “Yusuf shall call for you again if need be.”

As soon as the beta hurried off, Mal reached for her necklace and the tiny blue bottle at its end. “Your Majesty, if I may, drink this.”

Eames eyed her and the drop of fluid clinging to the stopper. “What clever sorcerous potion is this, _daughter of my enemy_?”

“I have learned over the years that one doesn’t have to be a werewolf or alpha to underestimate women, your Majesty, you need only be a man. It is your choice whether or not to trust me, _intended of my most beloved brother_.” Her smile was calculated and sharp. “I offer you this drop of salvation for my brother’s sake, not mine.”

“I nearly had your most beloved brother disfigured and unwittingly neutered by a doctor who revealed himself to be completely incompetent, Mallorie.”

“And I sense the guilt and pain within you, which is why today, you must make a fresh, new start with my brother if he is to be happy here.”

Eames glanced at Arthur in the next room. His brother was speaking over him to Yusuf as if the boy wasn’t there. He studied Mal for a long time before sighing. “If you attempt to poison me I will shift and kill you.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” When his brow quirked, she offered him the drop again, pleased when he accepted it on his tongue.

He watched her carefully, as the potion tingled on his tongue. Within seconds, he could feel his heat retreating gradually from the surface. He hadn’t noticed how tense he’d been until his shoulders relaxed and his lungs issued out a deep calming breath.

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, an alpha is not permitted to bond with their intended mate until after their marriage. Ruts make honoring that extremely difficult.”

A grin formed on the King’s face. “Who is your alpha, if I may ask?”

“One from your cluster of enemies, your Majesty,” she teased. “This was not made for a werewolf alpha, so it will not last as long, but it should give you some clarity now at least.”

He huffed as Mal’s ladies eased Arthur to sit up in the bed when Yusuf led the elder Prince to his office. The boy looked trampled and tired, dwarfed in that large bed, but let himself be propped up and given the cup of milk. One lady bowed at the King and Princess before quietly closing the door, preparing to dress him.

Eames turned away, his heart heavy. “I honor your optimism, Mallorie, but I think… Even if I were stretched out on the floor and comatose, your brother would still fear me.”

Mal hummed in understanding. The small jewels on her cap and interwoven in the wrapped braid of her hair sparkled in a catch of sun. She made a show of looking out of the window before speaking, choosing her words with care. “Would my brother have reason to fear you, your Majesty?”

Eames’ eyes betrayed his thoughts for a moment before he breathed deeply. “My father was not overly kind to my mother, which I’m sure is no surprise to you, as I’m certain you’ve heard the stories of my family.”

“You make it sound as if cruel kings are more rare than omegas.”

“Point taken.” He chuckled bitterly. “I want to care for Arthur, except..."

"Yes?"

"These ruts will not make it easy for your brother to love me, Mallorie. And that fact would be easy to come to terms with and accept if your parents only produced ugly children, but unfortunately that trend ended after your elder brothers were born…”

Mal laughed merrily. “They are the vainest of all, those brothers.”

“Your Majesties,” Mal’s lady spoke behind them, curtsying as she stepped aside. “Prince Arthur wishes to have fresh air for a while.”

“Of course, Madam. I have been dying to see my brother out of bed.” Mal rushed to him at once, embracing him tightly.

Arthur tried to ignore the King’s scent, fearing that his heat would come back and along with it, more pain and discomfort. He bowed awkwardly. “Your Majesty.”

“Your Highness.” Eames smiled, extending his hand for Arthur to kiss his ring. “It gladdens me to no end to see you on your feet. Are you…still in any pain?”

Arthur was annoyed for a moment that he couldn’t stop or hide his blush. “Not much, your Majesty.”

The King surprised both Mal and Arthur when he took to one knee, kneeling to kiss Arthur’s rings.

“This unfortunate incident has quite humbled me, dear Arthur. I pray above all else in this world that you forgive me. I swear it shall not happen again.”

Without thinking, Arthur snatched his hand out of the King’s grasp. He quickly shook his head, smiling apologetically. “Majesty, you need not submit yourself like this to me.”

Eames held out his hands as he stood. He shrugged. “I only wish to show my sincerity.” He caught the chastising look Mal gave to her brother in his peripheral view. He tried again. “At least the rains have past for now. You and your sister and the ladies can now move about the palace without all us werewolves smelling like wet dogs everywhere you turn,” he chuckled.

Arthur smiled a little but it quickly crumbled. He turned to Mal. “Where is Sophie?”

The King frowned. “Who?”

“Sophie is Arthur’s little dog,” Mal explained.

Eames wrinkled his nose in disgust. “There is a rule banning dogs in the palace. I abhor those weak little pests.”

“We were told as such, although, Arthur loves Sophie more than our siblings. Perhaps that rule will have to change now or an exception be made, your Majesty. For wherever Arthur is, Sophie will be there as well.” She followed Arthur back to his bedroom where the ladies were still changing the sheets on the bed. “Lady Christine, have you been keeping Sophie for Arthur all this time?”

The lady shook her head, confused. “No Ma’am. I was never made aware that I should. Arthur always keeps her with him.”

Mal crossed her arms. “Did the guard not send you my instructions at the festival?”

“No Ma’am,” she answered with dread. “No guard ever came to me with Sophie.”

Arthur searched the adjoining rooms, returning empty handed. “Mal, what if something terribl—”

“Not to worry.” Eames sprung into action, ordering the guard present to gather others to search the grounds. He cupped Arthur’s face, rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks though no blush appeared this time. “I’m sure the little thing is just exploring the grounds, getting familiar with her new home, perhaps?” He wanted to go on a search mission himself—anything to stop Arthur from looking so devastated. “In the meantime… You requested fresh air, yes?” At Arthur’s solemn nod, the King smiled. “Well, I always try to get in a game or two around this hour. Would you like to join me?”

+

 

Word spread quickly. Every seat in the small indoor court was filled for the King’s tennis match.

Arthur sat beside Mal and her ladies, in the center of the spectator's gallery, trying his best to ignore the stares and murmurs. The people present certainly saw the King and his men play court tennis on a usual basis, but there was nothing usual at all about seeing an omega. Every neck was craned in Arthur’s direction, trying to catch a glance of the boy who would soon be their King’s mate. 

At first, he figured that it would be impossible to focus on the King’s performance. He was wrong. Arthur sat quietly with his eyes on his own knees for most the matches after the King removed his doublet, and then his chemise during the second game. Whatever else was happening in the gallery around him, he didn’t know. His senses all zeroed in on the alpha: his scent, his grunts of exertion, his bare chest.

Mal liked to tease him about his affections for Robert, but what would she think of him now? Silently panting and hot for the werewolf alpha as he won nearly every game, always taking a moment to give Arthur a smile or playful wink between serves. 

Even though the air was cool, sweat still clung to the King’s skin, making him glisten in the light. Strange, dark markings like tiger stripes ran the length of his right upper arm and across that side of his chest and back. He looked to be capable of crushing Arthur’s skull in the crook of his arm. And yet, the definition in those arms, the way his body moved, back and forth with the racket, lit a fire of passion in Arthur that he never knew he’d possessed, and he had no idea what to do with it now that that fire burned within him.

Arthur kept his legs closed as tightly as he could, praying that his heat would not return. He prayed that he would never have another heat ever again, no matter if he understood its full pleasures and benefits the way his former nursemaid promised that he would with time. The very last thing he wanted was to distract the King or end up cornered by a legion of betas again.

“The King’s putting on a mighty impressive show for you, your Highness,” Mal’s youngest lady whispered beside him. “Oh, I shall envy you for the rest of my days, Arthur.”

The King growled ferociously when he lost the first game of the second match and crushed his racket. It should have terrified Arthur, but his body only grew hotter still, that curious ache between his legs more pleasure than pain after his misadventures with the doctors.

He shivered, a little breathless. At once, the King glanced his way as if he'd been called, missing the ball and therefore losing the match. The gallery erupted in disappointed murmurings, and even a few tossed Arthur nasty glares.

The King picked up his discarded short, sideless overgown and climbed into the gallery towards Arthur.

The surrounding crowds were silent and still. Arthur had an apology ready on his tongue, unable to meet the King’s eyes as the alpha stood before him, still covered in sweat and half naked. To his surprise, rather than admonish him, the King draped his overgown across Arthur’s shoulders.

When he looked up to speak, the King silenced him with a chaste kiss.

It lasted only a second, but it could have been a lifetime for Arthur. The gallery erupted in applause and happy cheers.

 

His first kiss still tingled on his lips as the King spoke to Mal, inviting them to an early supper.

“Oh, my Arthur,” Mal teased, still seated at the gallery waiting for the King to be redressed in his rooms, “you are completely helpless.” She reached over and removed Arthur’s hand from his face.

Arthur hadn’t noticed that he’d been touching his lips. 

He found himself doing it again as he walked beside the King towards the dining hall. He tried keeping his fist balled up at his sides, but that only made him want to reach over for the King’s hand. He couldn’t keep them behind his back either. The King’s hand was already there, guiding him forward.

He still wore the King’s short overgown, tempted to bury his face in its fur-lined collar just to breathe in more of the alpha’s scent.

Arthur's fingertips were at his lips again. He wished to find some reason to make the King kiss him a second time, and startled out of his reverie when the hand at his back suddenly pressed more firmly.

Eames had had a talk with Yusuf after the games had ended. He had to give his Lord Chancellor and Princess Mallorie all the credit. Arthur, according to Mal, was most uncomfortable confined in small spaces indoors and surrounded by people. This dinner would be filled with members of Eames’ household and court staring Arthur down once again and talking about and over him as if he were a pretty painting rather than a person. In these such circumstances, it would be damn near impossible to get Arthur to speak candidly.

Yusuf had handled the rest. The court would still have their dinner, but without Eames and Arthur, as they had other plans now.

“Your Majesty?” Arthur frowned, watching his sister and her ladies walk with the King’s Lord Chancellor in the opposite direction. “Where are we going? What about…”

Eames let Arthur’s words trail off as they stepped out into a small garden. Guards stood to either side of the small entrance and servants were finishing the final touches for their small picnic. Vines circled the columns and crept up through cracks in the stone benches and statues. The last of the autumn flowers were in bloom.

“What do you think?” Eames asked, watching Arthur stare wide-eyed. The clouds shifted overhead and sunlight sparkled in the center fountain.

Arthur stepped forward and without warning laughed softly and spun once, his arms extended, his sleeves and tunic swaying like an opening rose, as he breathed in the garden air, taking in the sun's rays. He stopped short, remembering himself and knelt on the thick blanket. “Your Majesty, thank you," he breathed, his eyes still searching, "I love gardens. This one is beautiful.”

Eames could say the same for Arthur, wanting to see that rose bloom once more. He joined him on the blanket, comforted by the relief still washing through him. Never had he put forth as much effort to impress someone. He’d worked hard during the games only to look over and see Arthur hardly watching him at all, but now, this simple, overrun garden, with its peace and quiet, had won the boy’s affections at once. “Yeah? Me too.” He gladly accepted the bowl of grapes Arthur shyly offered.

“Have you seen our gardens in Milecomté?”

“Only with my imagination. There are great paintings dedicated to those gardens, but I know they must pale in comparison to the real thing.” He forgot to eat, watching Arthur again as he admired their little garden once more. “I’m sure it’s laughable to some people that I would call this garden my secret getaway, what with the guards and such, but…still…it’s…”

He sat down the bowl and reached for Arthur’s hand, gaining his attention. “This garden may be your secret place as well, now. If you wish.”

Arthur looked at him with bright eyes and an even brighter smile.

Eames couldn’t help but smile too. “You have the loveliest eyes, my sweet Arthur.” When Arthur’s smile widened, Eames felt his heart pound nearly out of his chest. It was his turn to look away from Arthur, overwhelmed suddenly by his feelings. “My goodness, what have I gotten myself into, boy?”

+


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames' rut gets dangerously out of control.

+

 

Arthur’s dog was still missing, even after a full week of searching. Rumors flooded the court and countryside that Eames must have eaten it, filled with rage and jealous over the omega’s love for the little beast.

Eames sat in the parlor for Arthur’s rooms with his head in his hands, listening to the boy cry himself to exhaustion in his bedroom.

Yusuf sighed when he walked in. He placed his stack of papers on the table and sat opposite Eames.

Eames rubbed his face tiredly. “Please tell me you have good news.”

“Well,” Yusuf sat back, getting comfortable, “the campaigns in the south are going well, the economy’s up and morale is high thanks to the coming wedding. The ship with Prince Arthur's possessions should arrive by tomorrow evening, and should remain in Hillport until it’s ready to depart with Princess Mallorie… We’ve seized another fortress from the Fischers and your new warships are close to completion, also—”

“For fuck’s sake, Yusuf," the King growled angrily. "I don’t give a bloody damn. I meant with the dog.”

“Ah…” he nodded, unable to hold back his smile. “Well, Majesty, worst-case scenario, at least you won’t have to share the marriage bed with it always licking your face when you’re—” He cleared his throat when Eames' growl turned threatening. “Just face it, Eamesie. Whether or not the dog is dead or halfway to Sansar, one thing remains perfectly clear.”

“That my omega hates me, and probably thinks I really did eat the damned thing too?”

“That you’re hopelessly in love with him, you adorable fool. You bloody hate dogs! Now look at you.” He smiled again, when Eames glanced up at him with a sheepish glance. “Instead of wasting your time sitting here alone, why not go in that bedroom and rub those love pheromones all over him and pretty soon, he’ll forget all about his stupid little lap toy.”

Eames leveled Yusuf with a contemplative gaze. He nodded, feeling only slightly reassured.

That is, until the guard at the entrance of the rooms approached and bowed. “Your Majesty, the guard from the festival is here, as requested.”

Yusuf tilted his head in confusion. “You… Oh no. _No_ ,” he warned, when Eames stood and nearly ran to the door and the waiting guard. “Your Majesty, I think we should discuss this first!” He chased after him, full of dread when he heard Eames roar in the corridor.

Eames had the guard by the throat, his teeth bared.

Yusuf stepped around the King’s men, who had gathered in the corridor as well. The wolves were already salivating. “Your Majesty,” he tried, “perhaps this isn’t the best strategy.”

Eames was near shifting as the guard cowered under his hands.

“Your Majesty, I swear,” the guard trembled, “I was only following orders. I just put the dog outside, that’s all. That’s all, I swear. I didn’t harm her, I promise.”

“Where is it now?” the King demanded.

“I don’t know, she was sitting on the steps outside the door when I last—”

Yusuf turned away, grimacing. He could still hear the man choking before Eames’ claws tore into his throat. The two wolves rushed past his legs, happy to drag the bleeding man away before they ate him.

In all the years that Yusuf had been a member of Eames’ household, and after so many of Eames’ hunts, he’d seen enough of blood. He sighed in agitation over the blood staining the floor.

Eames immediately turned on his men, his eyes golden and sharp, his claws still extended. “If this mutt isn’t found soon, I will have all your heads! Do you understand me? I demand this of all of you!”

Yusuf sighed into his hand as the werewolves rushed to do the King’s errand. “Your Majesty, this is not at all what I mean when I say positive reinforcement.”

Eames paced, back in the parlor, looking near frantic. “This has to be an omen, Yusuf, it has to be.”

“Nonsense, Eamesie! Stop panicking. Everything will be fine.”

“No, it won’t be.”

Yusuf felt his dread return. “Have you spoken to Mallorie since yesterday? Perhaps you should let her give you more of her potion. Your rut is getting out of control again.”

“I am in control, Yusuf.”

Yusuf stared in disbelief as Eames paced the room like a hungry lion. “Majesty, you licked that man’s blood from your fingers. Don’t you think—”

Eames sighed irritably. He stopped his pacing in front of Arthur’s bedroom door, his hands balled into tight fist. “I need to hunt.”

Yusuf didn’t argue. If the King said he needed to hunt, it was best to let that happen. Better this than one more family losing their breadwinner or son all because of Eames’ murderous temper.

He sent word out to have forest on the north side of the grounds cleared of any humans and had the groundskeeper secure wolfsbane around the area’s borders to avoid Eames from ravaging the fields beyond. 

When the tasks were completed by the late afternoon, Yusuf sent word to Eames readied his horse and the necessary supplies. Yusuf never shifted himself, if he could help it. Not that he was unhappy being a werewolf; he simply preferred more human methods, particularly when it came to hunting. Most times, he simply enjoyed following the others on his horse, and spent the time running numbers and lists through his head in anticipation of the work that would surely greet him upon his return to the palace.

He spotted Eames just beyond the line the trees and trotted over. The King had already removed his outer layers.

Eames was so on edge and ready to shift that his hands were shaking. “What’s the word from the grounds keeper?”

Yusuf folded and secured the offered clothing to his satchel. “He informed me that at least a small handful of boars have been pestering the farmers. The workers managed to run most of the beasts into the woods,” he explained, handing Eames a torn rag. “He has this for you. Says he found it caught on a bush on the far side of the trees there. One of the beasts tore this from a shirt when being chased.”

The King nodded and transformed into a great menacing wolf. His fur was a mixed grey and tawny like the two wolves from his pack, though his bulk was twice their size. He took off in the direction Yusuf had pointed.

No matter the King's rut-fueled temper, Yusuf's chest still swelled with pride seeming him shift and run. He had only been a young man, the son of a duke from Sansar, when Eames had been born. Eames had given Yusuf the bite accidentally when he was just a toddler in Yusuf’s arms; he was that strong, even at such an age. Yusuf had watched him grow and knew from the beginning that he would be especially powerful. Sure enough, he’d bested both of his elder siblings and had fought hard to gain the crown.

And he was still fighting. Eames would not be his father's son without violence, but he was _not_ his father. No matter his temper and sweet tooth for war, Eames was by no means the tyrant and abuser his father had been. Yusuf was just one of a legion of people who couldn’t be more relieved by that fact.

In a way, Yusuf could understand why Eames was so concerned over a thing he hated. If the omega’s dog hadn’t been lost, and Yusuf loathed to admit this, even to himself as he let his horse gallop wherever it saw fit, Eames very well may have killed the little beast eventually. Dogs were no mortal enemy of werewolves, but for some reason, they had the tendency to drive the Eameses mad when around one for too long. But rather than have his pack with him to enjoy this hunt and help him relax, Eames had them out searching from every tower to every ditch so that his omega could be happy again.

It was a side of Eames Yusuf had always known had to exist in him somewhere. A care and warmth that came from his mother, though Eames didn’t seem to understand how to express those feelings or operate within them without some form of aggression attached.

Not yet, anyways. It might do everyone a huge favor if the omega’s sister wasn’t leaving in two days. She’d been a godsend in helping Eames and her brother to communicate, and the way she’d corralled Eames’ temper the last several days, Yusuf at least was eternally grateful for that.

Yusuf was pulled from his musings when he heard Eames howl just over the hill as the clouds overhead opened with rain.

He stirred his horse toward his alpha, bewildered by what he saw. It was normal for Eames to shift back when the hunt was over and he’d killed his prey, but Yusuf had never seen the man cradle his kill before.

Except, when he dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a branch, he noticed that the killed boar was still on the ground. Eames was laughing hysterically, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. He kissed the little black, tan, and white ball of wet fur in his arms.

“Is that what I think that is?”

“Yusuf, this is blessing from God!” Eames proclaimed, holding the terrified pup over his head, laughing again. He nearly knocked Yusuf to the ground when he ran over to the elder werewolf. “The little mutt was almost in the boar’s mouth when I caught them both.”

Yusuf eyed the dog with worry. Her fur was caked with mud and she was shivering in Eames’ too-tight grip. She was clearly stressed. Sophie tried to leap at Yusuf when he drew close enough. She whined loudly until Eames frowned and dumped her into the elder werewolf’s arms.

Eames watched her wag her tail happily. He crossed his arms and grumbled, “Well, it certainly likes you.”

Yusuf chuckled, letting Sophie lick his face. “Of course she does. I’m not naked and covered in boar’s blood.” He cooed at her like he was holding a baby. “She’s adorable!”

Eames wrinkled his nose. “She smells awful.”

“She’s _adorable_ ,” Yusuf corrected him, glaring, “just like her owner, your omega.”

Realization struck Eames of a sudden. “You're right. Arthur will want to marry me at once. Yusuf, give me the dog.”

“Why don’t I give her a bath while you…go bathe as well?”

Eames glanced down at himself, remembering that he was still naked and blood spattered. He reached for Yusuf’s cheeks and kissed him on the mouth, getting a speck of blood on Yusuf’s nose. “Whatever would I do without you?”

"I dare not entertain the thought, your Majesty," he muttered, watching the King's hurried redressing and retreat back to the palace.

+

 

Mal’s study was a somber place now that she would be leaving soon. Her ladies sat around her on her bed as she made plans for her departure.

“Lady Catherine, Lady Anna, and Lady Marisol, as much as I love you dearly, I shall have to love you all from afar. You will remain here to look after our Arthur. From my understanding, at least three or four ladies and two boys from the Engston court shall accompany you in forming his attendants.” Each lady bowed in turn, receiving Mal’s blessing. “Make sure that he maintains his studies until a proper tutor is employed for his lessons, and make sure that he eats well and exercises. Don’t allow him to waste his youth with his face always in a book or oversleeping.”

“Are you happy, Ma’am, that you’ll be engaged to Dominic soon?”vone of her ladies asked.

“I am,” she smiled fondly and reached over to tuck a loose curl behind the girl's ear. “I have dreamt of this moment for so very long. He writes to me often and sends me his small drawings.”

“How did you meet him? Was it at court?”

“We were children, lost in the maze at his uncle’s castle. He pretended that I was his damsel in distress, but in the end, it was I who saved him from the labyrinth. We’ve had a game ever since, in which we will send each other mazes we’ve drawn. His aren’t very good, but I still enjoy them, nonetheless, and let him win every so often.”

Arthur quietly slipped from the room.

As much as he wanted to enjoy every second he had left with Mal, hearing her speak so lovingly of Dom only reinforced the fact that she was leaving. He’d hardly spent a day of his life without her, even when they quarreled. They were going to start their new lives, and even if Mal didn’t need Arthur, he still needed her.

He flopped down on his bed. Soon, this room would no longer be his. When the ship arrived from Milecomté with his possessions, they would all be placed in the Queen’s court chambers, closer to the King’s.

It hadn’t quite hit him yet, all that was happening, but his fears still ran rampant whenever he was alone. What if the King found him boring and they didn’t bond? What if the King’s subjects hated Arthur? What of potential poisoning plots, like the one that had taken their elder brothers’ mother before their father remarried. King Eames certainly had an impressive list of enemies.

And the scariest thought—What if the doctor had truly done him damage? It wasn’t that he wanted to have children, or knew what to do with them at all, but…if he couldn’t secure the King at least one son, his life would be over. There were nunneries for divorced and unbonded beta women, but for a childless male omega? He shuddered at the thought.

He’d tried one night, when the room was empty and the candles snuffed out, to feel what was hidden behind his more familiar flesh, to the place that had been embarrassingly proclaimed by the High Priests as his Sacred Omegahead in front of the entire Royal Court. It seemed much too small, smaller even than a woman's sex, he'd supposed, and as much as he tried to coax some pleasureable response from it, none came. He'd fallen asleep that night unsatisfied and further perplexed. 

All the ladies, councilmen, and court talk of childbearing and heats made him dizzy. He’d nearly fainted when he’d been shown the nursery already filled with cribs.

Two of his siblings had been stillborn. Mal’s mother died delivering her. Both of his eldest brother’s first wives had died during their child delivering, his third eldest brother’s first three sons had not lived past infancy and the man’s daughter was still quite sick. Yet Arthur, insignificant little Arthur, was supposed to produce the mightiest alpha offspring, miraculously it seemed, for a werewolf king close to conquering the whole continent.

Arthur filled his lungs with a deep inhale and instantly felt calmer. He blinked up at the ornate canopy overhead.

Eames readjusted his cloak over his arm and cleared his throat, startling Arthur.

“Your Majesty, forgive me.” The omega stumbled off the bed to bow. “I didn’t hear your enter.”

Eames smiled. “I’m not interrupting your thoughts, am I?”

“No, no, Majesty, I was just…” In truth, he had been scaring himself wondering what sex with the werewolf alpha might be like. He blushed furiously. “I was…”

“You’re nervous." He shrugged. "Of course. Everything here is new to you; the land, the language, the people, and with your dear sister scheduled to return home, it must be challenging. I won’t even attempt to lie and say that I understand what all this must feel like for risk of making myself look like a fool.” He smiled. “However, I think I might be able to cheer you up just a little bit.” At Arthur’s curious expression, he lifted his cloak.

Arthur lost all of sense of etiquette and composure seeing Sophie tucked in the crook of the King’s arm. He rushed forward, hugging the alpha tightly. He took Sophie into his arms like she was his child.

“Where on earth did you find her, your Majesty?”

“In the clutches of—” Arthur would be horrified by the real story. “Tangled in a long curtain.”

“Oh thank god, and thank you, your Ma—Um…” He swallowed, looking curiously sheepish.

Eames tilted his head to the side, confused, but he felt it now. He looked down at his arm and the side of his wet doublet. He growled.

Arthur sat the dog on the bed. She immediately ran to the pillows and hid under them. “Your Majesty, I’m so, so sorry. She only does that when she’s scared. You’re just…unfamiliar, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to put the dog in one of the cooks’ stoves and have her for a snack. “She often pisses on alphas?” He would have to bathe, and burn this soiled suit.  

“Well…no. She’s… Actually, she’s never done that before. She’s very well mannered, and quiet. Usually. Perhaps you were holding her too tightly, Majesty?” He swallowed again before approaching the King with an awkward kiss for his cheek and hugged him again.

Eames felt as though his heart stopped momentarily when the tiny dog in his arm had been replaced by a happy omega. He couldn’t be bothered with the dog nipping at his boots. Arthur’s scent was all around him, enveloping his mind in a veil of lust. He pulled Arthur back far enough to catch his lips.

For a while, that was all his mind registered. Not his tongue delving into the omega’s mouth and tasting pomegranates, not the plush bedding under Arthur’s back, or the ribbons he untied, exposing Arthur's neck, or even his hands on the waistline of Arthur’s silk tights.

He ended the kiss abruptly, as if he'd woken up from a trance. His rut egged him on to take Arthur now, but…it wasn’t right or proper. Only when they were wed would god bless him with heirs. He would be damned, literally, if he couldn’t resist his temptations and walk away from this bedroom.

“Majesty?” Arthur stared at him with wonder and surprise. He’d frozen when the King kissed him, never expecting to end up with an alpha in his mouth in exchange for a simple hug. It was scary, but his heart beat rapidly for an entirely different reason than fear.

The King’s eyes were golden, his hold on Arthur firm and commanding, even as he tried his hardest not to return to Arthur’s lips. “Well,” the King cleared his throat, his hands still on Arthur’s hips. “That was...interesting. Um… Are you alright, Arthur?”

He could only nod his affirmation. He leaned up a little to touch the King’s lips with his own, wanting to feel how surprisingly soft they were. Filled with hesitation, he dared himself to kiss the King the way the King had kissed him. It was madness, but he was driven, nonetheless.

Hesitation soon transformed into determination. Arthur’s attempts to return the King’s passionate kisses would have entertained Eames if they weren’t currently muddling his mind into proceeding with the sin he wished to commit.

Maybe Arthur didn’t necessarily need to be a virgin on their wedding day, and what would it matter if he bonded to Arthur now, when it was only going to happen anyways, in a few agonizingly long weeks. And if Arthur’s omegahead wasn’t yet prepared to be taken, well…there were always other ways to bed this darling boy in the meantime.

Arthur touched his face and neck and it was all of the encouragement he needed.

Until Sophie lunged forward all of a sudden and bit Eames' face.

+

 

“You did  _what_?” Mal proclaimed, floored by Arthur’s retelling of the evening.

Nightfall had long since arrived, but Arthur couldn’t sleep, so he’d tiptoed across the parlor to Mal’s room.

He laughed and fell over on her rumpled sheets, Sophie in his arms.

Mal snacked him with a large pillow. “Thank goodness for Sophie! The Royal Defender of Her Master’s Chastity and—what did Cardinal Bryant say? Your maidenhead?”

“I have to be a maiden to have one of those.”

She snickered, tumbling over her brother. “Arthur, shame on you!”

“What was I supposed do? He was simply… _there_ , and… Mal, he smelled  _really_  good, and I just…can’t explain what comes over me when he’s near.” He sighed. “I am entirely flustered, Mal. And I guarantee you that he thought I was a terrible kisser.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Of course he didn’t.”

“Of course he did. Because I  _am_  terrible.” He buried his face in his robe sleeves. “But I just had to try, to see what it was like to kiss someone. Do you think he may have felt the same as I did, the first time he kissed me?”

“I think so. You two are destined for each other, after all.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Please stay, Mal. At least until after the wedding.”

“God willing, I will be able to visit you often, but…”

Arthur sighed, but smiled when he nodded. “I know, I know. You have to get married yourself as well, soon. Which of our brother’s is giving you away?”

“Certainly not our eldest. I’m sure he’ll reserve himself only for your wedding so that he can plant himself in the middle of all the attention, both socially and politically. You know he works tirelessly to expand his celebrity at every opportunity.” She laughed with Arthur. “Which of us will have a child first?” She raised her brow playfully.

Arthur frowned. “You. I hope. So you might convince me that I shouldn’t be as terrified as I am.”

“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed, taking his hand. “Trust me when I say that, when the time comes for our children to be born, the process shall be much kinder for you than me. We were born for this, but you, all the more so. Your children shall be the masters of mine. Please remember to teach them mercy and kindness,” she tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

He watched the fire burn for a moment before saying, “I wish there was more to my life than that. You know?”

“You’ll rethink that once you hold your first alpha in your arms. Don’t take your status for granted, Arthur. It has placed you in the line of Queen, and not just any Queen, as I shall be. No, you will be the Queen of Engston. I guarantee you that when your name is recorded in history, it shall not only be because of your childbearing. I have faith in that.”

“You see, Mal, this is why I need you. Who will encourage me when you are—” He was hushed with Mal’s hand over his mouth.

She looked far off before turning to him. “Listen, I hear something.”

He heard it too, muffled voices and men gathering in the parlor. Arthur crept from the bed to listen through the door. He prayed the hinges wouldn’t squeak when he pulled it opened just a crack and peered out. Guards were gathering in front of his bedroom. “Mal,” he whispered, “come look.”

She held Sophie close to her chest and took a peek. “What on earth are they doing?”

Arthur’s attempt to answer was thwarted by the chilling sound of a beast growling from somewhere in the parlor’s shadows.

Mal paled. Thinking quickly, she pulled Arthur from the door and closed it tightly, bringing down the wooden latch as well.

“Mal, what’s wrong? I want to see.”

He changed his mind when the growl was heard loud and clear through the heavy door. The guards were shouting, there was a commotion, and then silence, before screams rang out from the guards as the beast attacked them.

Mal and Arthur hurried to the bed’s headboard, holding each other tightly. He had to put Sophie under his robe to silence her high-pitched cries.

They could hear thick paws padding on the floor and its claws scraping behind, like its movements were clumsy, hopefully from a guard’s sword. It was clawing at Arthur’s door and whining between growls.

Silence fell once more. Mal and Arthur held their breaths. It was now that Arthur noticed the little dagger Mal had clutched in hands.

Something thudded dully against her door now, followed by heaving scenting and the tap of claws.

Arthur was suddenly overcome with a short bout of fever and the telltale signs of his body stirring with pleasure. It ended at once at the realization of just what beast was behind the door.

His suspicion was only confirmed when a new band of guards entered the parlor.

“Your Majesty, for the love of god, please! We beg you to find your peace and leave this place before more blood can be shed.”

“Someone send for wolfsbane and the Duke of Sansar! Go now!”

Mal’s arms surrounded Arthur, shielding his ears, but it was too late. The scratching at the door ceased only long enough for more guards to be mauled. The wolf’s mighty roar chilled them both to their souls.

“Turn away, Arthur,” Mal whispered, shaking as the hinges creaked. “This is all a dream gone wrong. Don’t listen, my brother. Close your eyes and turn away. In the morning you will wake with peace and happiness once more.”

 

Except, when day broke the next morning, and Arthur found himself still tucked into Mal’s bed, he was hurried off at once, his eyes shielded from mess that had been made of his and Mal’s doors and the bloody, scratched floor. He was led immediately to the Queen’s chambers. They were still being hastily prepared when he arrived.

Arthur was not deceived in the slightest. He was offended that the King and his council would even think him such a fool not to know that last night wasn't a dream.

Yet, even his sister pretended. She smiled kindly to the King and accepted his invitation to attend breakfast eagerly.

It wasn’t as if Arthur would have declined—he wasn’t allowed to refuse the King anything—but it hurt him that his sister would not at least ask him before agreeing. He was exhausted from the prior night and wanted nothing more than to retire to his rooms.

In the end, he gained his wish when he pretended a fainting spell and convinced everyone of his need for rest.

He paused upon entering his new chambers and seeing the shipment of his possessions from Milecomté in the parlor. In the hour he’d wasted sitting with a room full of liars, not one of them had bothered to inform him that it had arrived. Any hope he’d had of Mal staying longer disappeared, now that that ship was in port waiting for her. 

He sent away the ladies that had followed him. Arthur sat in front of the fireplace and allowed himself to weep for a little while. He was so overwhelmed by this new world and its insurmountable stress, he wanted to scream, and to smash whatever he could get his hands on.

He distracted himself with a checklist to make sure all of his possessions were here and in tact. He almost cried again when he found the stack of letters he’d kept over the years from Robert Fischer. He was tempted to write him a letter now.

Only the words wouldn’t come. In their place was a bizarre pang from within, of guilt, but what did he have to feel guilty of with Robert?

When the answer eluded him still, he opted to find comfort in reading his favorites from the stack, but saw that a new letter had been placed with the others. Arthur was lost in the prose of a poem Robert had written about his late father. It angered Arthur to have missed the Fischer King’s passing. And so much time had passed since Robert had sent it. He had to write him at once, to send his apologies and prayers.

“What are you doing?”

Arthur spun, too startled to bow. His inexplicable guilt was returned in full force as he faced the golden-eyed King.

Something was different about him, Arthur caught the change in his scent as the King walked forward and took his letter.

He watched the King’s brow furrow as he read it. To his dismay, it was crumpled and tossed into the fireplace.

“Majesty—”

“If you are to be my Queen, I cannot have you conspiring behind my back.”

“No, your Majesty. Sir Robert is a childhood friend. We simply write to each other for company.”

“My company shall be more than enough for you, my Arthur. Now, discard these things. They smell vile, like all Fischers.”

Arthur stepped back, his tears fresh. “I beg your pardon, your Majesty, but…it hurts me to hear you speak of my dear cousin in such a way.” The King stared. Arthur was unable to meet his eyes. “Please, your Majesty, my Intended, I promise to never ask you of anything if you grant me permission to maintain my writing to Robert."

“You will do as you’re told.”

“But, your Majesty—”

“I will not be made to repeat myself.”

Arthur turned, crying in silence.

The King watched Arthur shake his head and bow. He stopped Arthur from retreating to his bedroom with the letters. “Do it here. I wish to see that my will is carried out in full.”

“No.” The word was out of his mouth before he could control it. He braced for the worst.

The King’s brow rose in shock. “You will listen. I am your king, your intended, and your alpha.”

“I don’t care!” Arthur finally screamed. “You only want to marry me because I’m an omega! You wouldn’t want me at all otherwise.” He wiped away his tears angrily, watching Eames’ chest heave and his fists clinch. “You don’t care about me at all, do you? And yet, if I hadn’t ever come here, if I had remained in Milecomté, I wouldn’t have to feel like I’ve been locked in a tower without windows and not even a mouse for a friend once my sister leaves—”

Eames roared, near shifting. Arthur cringed when Eames’ hands lifted him under his arms and pinned him to the wall. He could feel the pinprick of claws through his tunic and undershirt.

The King’s bulk held him where he’d been planted. He gripped Eames’ arms as the werewolf leaned forward, fearing Eames would bite him, but instead, his forehead pressed to Arthur’s as his eyes bore into the omega’s.

“Rest assured,” the King rumbled low, even more menacing than when his voice had risen before, “that the second I would have learned of an omega in my kingdom or abroad, unwed or taken, with or without child, I would have lain siege to every village and castle from here to there, in order to claim you as mine. Even your father’s blood would coat my sword if the old man dared to keep you from me. I am a true alpha king, the conqueror of men, and you are _my_ omega. No one else has a right to you… Do you understand?”

Arthur wanted to struggle free. He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“You are lucky to have me as your alpha. Who else would have as much restraint as I, when all I want is to mate you now and damn the wedding.”

A loud whimper escaped Arthur when he felt those claws pierce his flesh when Eames tightened his grip. 

“You will get rid of those letters and never write him nor speak his name again.”

Arthur flinched when Eames buried his face into his neck to scent him deeply. An appreciative growl rumbled up the King’s chest. Arthur wanted to melt into a puddle of tears, so shaken by the werewolf still holding him trapped, but more importantly, he was mortified by the way his body reacted to Eames’ bullying. That intense ache had returned between his legs, an uneven mixture of pain and pleasure.

Eames nosed at the blush on Arthur’s cheek before scenting him again. “See?” he whispered into the curls covering Arthur’s ear as he finally let Arthur’s feet touch the floor. “Your body beckons me. It is your nature. No weak little beta could ever inspire that in you.”

“Majesty,” a woman’s voice spoke out just over his shoulder.

When the King turned, Mal swung her fist with every ounce of strength she had, causing him to stumble back away from Arthur.

“How dare you?” he roared, his fangs fully descended.

Mal held her ground in spite the fear that had her trembling. “You promised that you would come to me for more of the potion when need be, and yet I find you here, intent to harm my brother?”

“You would do well not to challenge me, Madam. I am the King of Engston and shall be treated as such, with respect.”

Her voice was calm when she spoke, her teary eyes now pinning him in place, her anger radiating from her like heat from a furnace. “Your rut has caused you to lose your mind, your Majesty. Forgive my overstepping, but any man, alpha werewolf, king...whatever the case, who would harm an omega is deserving of little respect. Now,” she crossed her arms, “do you feel better?”

Eames let slip his pain when he rubbed his jaw, surprised, because he truly did feel better, like he had some grain of composure left in spite of his blinding need to mate his omega.

He saw that the tips of his nails were red. When he glanced at the wall where he’d had Arthur, the omega was gone. Only he and Mal stood in the parlor.

Mal was the first to speak. “Your Majesty, I respect and honor you, however, I care nothing of your pride, so I will say this bluntly. Never touch my brother in that way or say such things to him as you did ever again.”

“Is that an order, Mallorie?” he asked, his voice carrying none of his usual power and weight.

“Take it as you wish, Your Majesty.” She bowed, mocking him with her glare.

They stood in the sunlight, at an impasse once again. Eames wanted her to look away first, it was what everyone did in the presence of an alpha, and yet…

Eames finally growled and dropped his eyes. “I’m not always so…” He wanted to say his behavior was purely animalistic.

“I do not care. You are not my intended, but Arthur’s. He knows nothing of alpha heats or the madness they cause.”

She was right. Eames decided it was best to simply nod and leave the room than to dwell on the fact that _he_ did care about Mal’s opinion of him, and was ashamed to think that she – and worse, Arthur – saw him as a monster.

+


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossing my fingers that this is one of two updates for the weekend, because WOW this has 200 subscribers! You guys really love this fic and I really love it and you as well!
> 
> <33333333333
> 
> Enjoy!

+

 

Mal found Arthur bundled up under his thick quilts. He was staring at the letters as they burned in the hearth.

Her dress ruffled as she sat on the edge of the bed and picked up Sophie. Mal searched under the cover for Arthur's hand. It was shaking. She squeezed it carefully.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said. “Take me with you.”

“You know if I could, but…” She sighed, bracing herself. “Your place is here now.” When he didn’t speak, she tried again. “I have never lied to you, and I will not begin to now. The King is right, in what he said. Omegas produce the strongest, healthiest children, and so they must be bonded with great alphas. King Eames, he’s… He’s different; he is disadvantaged by his bloodlines. That’s why his behavior was scary, but, Arthur, perhaps things will not always be this way.”

“And what if they are? You did not want to marry him, so why should I?”

“If Dom was not an alpha I would still have to marry a king that was.”

“But you know Dom, and love him," he argued. "What about Robert? We could have children together and be married, too. We couldn’t before, when I was thought to be a beta, but that’s changed. Right? I could certainly grow to love him, I think. Please?”

She shook her head sadly. “He’s only a beta, Arthur." It broke her heart to see her brother this way. "I am so sorry.” 

They stared at the fire in silence as she stroked his hand.

“I hate you,” Mal heard him say. His voice was thick from crying.

She closed her eyes against her own tears. “You hate me?” she asked softly. “Why?”

“Because you’re leaving.”

“I must, Arthur.”

“You’re abandoning me.”

“Of course not.” She turned, trying to embrace him, but he threw off the quilt and moved away from her. “Arthur, please. You know that I cannot stay.”

“Fine! Then go!” He took Sophie from her and stood, his back turned. He pointed at the door. “Go to your precious Dominic and your happy life together and leave me alone. Go away!”

Several ladies rushed in at the commotion, but quickly stepped aside when Mal hurried past them in tears.

+

 

Yusuf had half a mind to ride his horse straight into the palace. His feet couldn’t carry him fast enough. He had to duck and dodge past his secretaries, whose hands were filled with papers and reports.

He found the King in his chambers, still in his long chemise and dressing gown, even though the afternoon sun shined brightly through the windows. His cup was untouched and his breakfast long forgotten. His attendants and grooms hovered by the wall, looking as if they'd weathered a storm. Yusuf had to admit, however, considering, that a storm would have been better than what had actually happened while he had been away.

Eames didn’t acknowledge the elder werewolf when the guard ushered him in.

“So,” Yusuf spoke quietly, “my trip to the provinces went well. The mayors, however, left much to be desired personally, but…”

Eames groaned, rubbing his face. "God, I'd forgotten to sign the orders for them."

“That's alright, I took the liberty, since we'd discussed it some time before. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been trampled…by a legion of carriages, then blasted by a cannon, and maybe trampled again by that gang of satyrs who'd bested me on our mission to find fairies when I was a child.”

Yusuf hid his smile, not sure if the King was joking or serious. “This was perhaps the worst rut you’ve ever had, Majesty.”

“It was, Yusuf. Beyond a doubt. That fine little omega and his damned... _intoxicating_ hormones. No one had ever told me it'd be like this, granted I'm sure by the look of things, I wasn't the only one caught by surprise, that poor boy. And what's worse, with this powerful rut, I feel like I've been carrying around two cannon balls in my codpiece all the while, all because my stupid brain thought I'd be siring heirs by now." He and Yusuf both grimaced when Eames shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "But it’s over, finally, although…not bloody soon enough.”  

“I can absolutely agree with that, your Majesty.”

Eames looked at Yusuf. “Well? That’s it? Aren’t you going to berate me for not listening to yours and Mallorie’s counseling?”

Yusuf sighed. “From what I’ve heard of…recent events? Eamesie, I think you’ve suffered enough. What can I say that you aren’t already thinking yourself?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I have utterly ruined everything, Yusuf,” he lamented, miserably. “I just... Before, he was just shy but he was curious. Now, he's... And he'd been so perfect, when he kissed me back. Did I tell you yet, that he'd kissed me?" He was lost in the memory for a moment. "I don't even remember shifting that night and we're nowhere near a full moon, but...there I was, licking splinters from my paws. I just let instinct get the better of me, after that. And boy did it turn out perfectly! I’m sure my father is dancing in his grave to see his son—”

“Majesty.” Yusuf sat on the edge of the table and lean forward, taking his face in hand. “Eames,” he stressed. “Never think of that. You will always be a far better alpha than either he or your brothers. What happened shall simply stand as a test, that's all. A test that I have no doubt you will navigate through with success. You would not be Henry Eames if a strong rut was your undoing, after slaying dragons, sea monsters, and besting your brothers.”

Eames thought on the elder werewolf’s words for a long time, before he nodded. “You’re right, Yusuf. Thank you.”

“Now,” Yusuf grunted as he stood on tired legs, “what shall his Majesty’s first act of redemption be?”

He stood as well and took an apple from the bowl. He ate while pacing. “First I think, for the good of the court and palace, at least, I should like to make amends to the guards I…accidentally…maimed, with a modest trust of financial security for their families.”

“Excellent, Majesty. I’m sure the Prince would also find such generosity to be pleasing. It would demonstrate the care you have for your subjects.”

Eames tilted his head. "But I don't actually..." At Yusuf's glare, he cleared his throat. "Yes, right. Good. That’s good, Yusuf.”

“And?”

“Gifts for Arthur. I’ve seen him admire his sister’s broaches. I shall have one made to look similar to hers. I could have the jewelers fashion twins of all of her ornaments.”

“Ah, no, Majesty.”

“Why not?”

Yusuf frowned. “I’m not sure that would be the safest idea. I was made aware that, after your incident with the Prince, he and his sister had a falling out of sorts. With her departure fast approaching, the good nature of their relationship may be forever placed on hold, particularly after she marries King Dominic.”

Eames didn’t want to guilt himself further by thinking of the part he surely played in causing that rift. He shook his head. “You’re right. He must not be made to remember unpleasant times.” Particularly when they were Eames' own fault.

“But jewelry is certainly a great plan.”

“Right. Have the jewelers come to see me in the afternoon.”

“Majesty, it’s already afternoon.”

Eames halted and looked at his clock. “Goodness, where did the time go? I swear if I never have another rut in my life, I would be the happiest alpha to have ever lived, Yusuf.”

“From your lips...” He finished the saying by waving his hand towards the heavens. “Which reminds me, shall I have Parliament begin preparations for the Prince’s integration into the court?”

“Of course, of course," he waved his hand flippantly, "but whenever you have time, I want you to stay on those jewelers to make sure that everything is perfect."

He bowed, pleased with the King's renewed spirit. "Will do, Sire."

"And be sure to deliver them personally, and pay the utmost attention to his reactions. I need to know how much he likes them."

"I'm sure he'll adore each and every one, Eamesie. Just be careful not to spoil him."

"He is worth spoiling, and much more. Arthur is to be the mother of my children," Eames mused suddenly, filled with emotion. "Everything must be perfect. Everything.”

+

 

The next several days went by in a blur for Arthur. He would wake up panicking from a nightmare and expecting Mal to be near enough to go to her for encouragement, but remembering what had happened only made him feel numb throughout the daylight hours.

In the evenings, he wished to venture to the secret little garden that the King had shown him, but he always worried that the King would be there himself and he had no desire to be in the presence of the werewolf alone.

He wanted to run to Mal when he saw her from afar, but when they sat together at the King’s table for dinner, his words would get stuck in his throat.

 

Arthur daydreamed as he sat for his portrait in the parlor. His mind was far away, to memories of sneaking from court with her to watch the stars outside in the gardens, when he was a child. She would make him point out a constellation and would then tell him stories of how it was formed. They would skip their lessons to go into the palace’s library, to its hidden backrooms where Arthur would watch in amazement as Mal created potions from the ancient scrolls.

The painter caught Arthur’s little smile. He snapped the Prince out of his musings. “Your Highness, if your dog can remain perfectly still in your arms, then I beseech you do the same,” he reprimanded. “It only takes longer when you move, young master.”

“If he wishes to smile, let him,” the King ordered from his settee, but Arthur’s smile was already gone and his spirit deflated with the sigh that passed his lips. “And you will also take care in how you speak to him, Mr. Daniels.”

“My apologies, Gracious Majesty. Um, Sire?” the painter asked the King shortly after, “Shall I paint him in his current clothes, in his father’s colors?”

The King shook his head, glancing at Arthur and quickly looking away. “No, no more amber and black. Paint him in the kingdom’s colors, _my_ colors. And make his hair a little longer about his shoulders.” He called over one of his grooms. “Have the barber and seamstresses informed of the Prince’s desired new style, my dear boy.”

Arthur’s eyes flashed to the King and followed the groom until he disappeared through the door. The boy was older, broader in the shoulders, and his hair a little lighter than Arthur’s. He didn’t understand why he would care or entertain a single thought of jealousy towards the young groom or possessiveness towards the King, but… Arthur sighed and shook his head at his own mind’s ramblings, once again causing him to be chastised by the beta making his portrait.

 

The night before Mal and her ladies’ trip back home, Arthur was dressed in his chemise and robe and knelt in front of his plain wooden statue of the Great Mother in the Queen's private chapel. With his rosary in hand, he prayed for Mal’s safe voyage home and that her future union with Dominic be blessed.

He professed in his prayers, as he did every night, his desire to be happy for Mal, even though he was miserable in his own affairs. He went to bed fighting the urge to sneak through the palace to his sister’s room, to talk and gossip with her into the early morning hours, just one last time.

In the end, he lay awake in his bed alone and cold in the Queen’s drafty chambers.

 

"Highness?" The groom stood beside his chair awkwardly. "Prince Arthur?"

Arthur startled slightly, coming out of his musings. He turned from the window and his view of the attendants loading Mal's carriages and stood to receive the young man with a heavy heart.

He frowned at the parcel he was offered and opened it with hesitation. He gasped, not needing to read the letter to know that it was from Mal when the pendant of her treasured sorceress sigil clattered on the table’s surface.

He turned back to the window and saw her ladies stepping into their carriages.

The eldest lady and a guard chased behind him, trying to stop him from running as he took the stairs two at a time. “You Highness, please! You’ll over-excite yourself and cause harm to your delicate facilities!”

He didn’t care. He passed the men of the privy council, who were all talking in the corridor across from the King’s chambers, he passed a secretary of the Lord Chancellor who startled, his papers flying all around, and he ran faster still when several more people called after him. Arthur stopped for no one. He had an entire palace he needed to clear before he could get to his sister.

Mal paused, her hand on the carriage door and the other held by the attendant to help her with the step. She glanced behind her at the palace and let her tears fall freely. She said a prayer for Arthur and turned to enter.

Barking caught her attention and stopped her again. Mal’s heart soared seeing Arthur hurrying from the palace, little Sophie at his heels, and a band of worried ladies and servants trailing after.

Mal laughed through her tears. “My Arthur, stop! You will run Lady Catherine to her death!” Her arms reached out to receive him, hugging him tightly.

He kneeled, kissing her hands. “I'm sorry for being so awfully unkind and selfish to you, and now it’s too late for—” He was hushed and made to stand.

She planted soft kisses across his face and hugged him again. “My Arthur, my precious brother, I am glad to share these tears with you, which have transformed into tears of happiness.” She laughed again when she picked up Sophie and kissed her head. “But we both know that the time for tears has ended. You have to be strong and most mature now, in your duties.”

“Will you visit? Please? I’ll…I’ll have the King invade Dom’s country just to see you again if I must.”

She chuckled. “I promise, as soon as I’m able. Did you read my letter?”

“Not yet. I saw your carriage and ran here at once.”

“I see that.” She hid her smile behind her hand from the ladies and guards who stood a polite distance away, some of them still heavily winded.

“Your Highness,” the attendant prompted, his hand out for the carriage.

Mal smiled sadly at Arthur’s downturned face. She cupped his chin. “Don’t fear, sweet Arthur, and stop those tears as well.” She took a moment to look at the palace and breathe in the air of the surrounding gardens, committing it all to her memory. “You will prove yourself to be an excellent Queen, I know for sure. Now, be good, read my letter, take my words to heart, and soon, we shall see each other again, happy and content with our children and our husbands. And please, never forget how precious you are, don’t let anymore, not even the King, take you for granted.”

“I will try, Mal.”

“I shall continue to encourage you and write to you whenever I can.”

“Mal, wait. Please,” he begged, taking her hand again. “Perhaps…one more day?”

“Our father has called me home and I must answer. Pick up your chin and carry yourself with a high spirit. Do this for me?”

He sighed, letting her go, and nodded.

She kissed his face again. “Good bye, my Arthur.”

He stepped back, wiping away his unshed tears, and held his head high for his sister.

He watched the carriages drive away, a host of feelings warring in his heart, but he turned to the palace with resolve even though he had never felt more small and afraid.

He was utterly alone now. He made a promise to Mal and to himself, nonetheless, not to let her down as he led the ladies and guards back to his rooms, his sister’s pendant still clutched firmly in his hand.

+

 

Eames' attempts to win Arthur's favor didn’t work. Not at all.

For weeks, Arthur was gifted, each day it seemed, with a marvelous chest or pouch of some new token or two. Ropes of rare pearls, gold rings with rubies and emeralds crafted from all over the country were presented, one after another. Then, he received a set of cross pendants, each inlaid with sapphires and pearls and tiny paintings of the Loved Son and the Great Mother. However, according to Arthur’s eldest brother, Michel, who arrived not long after Mal's departure, the gaudiness of the crosses was extremely blasphemous to the religious practices of Milecomté citizens.

Yusuf found it curious enough that, after Arthur’s brother had them removed from the omega’s possessions, the elder Prince was caught wearing one of those crosses on several occasions with an ever-growing list of bizarre excuses ready on his tongue.

Arthur was then given a set of pearl earrings. They scared him, as his ears were not pierced. Their presence only made his brother assume that the King expected him to have his ears pierced, so Michel ordered Arthur to have them done at once. It only led to more pain. Large glittering broaches of polished gold with precious gems, along with amber pendants and a glittering collar for Sophie arrived a week later.

Even a set of various chains of office had been fashioned and delivered, if Arthur so happened to prefer a more masculine style of ornament. His brother lamented their creation as well, and had them removed from Arthur's possession as he had with the crosses. A slew of necklaces more reminiscent of what the ladies wore arrived in his parlor a week later.

Arthur took the time to admire each gift politely, his brother hovering over his shoulder with a critical eye each time, but Arthur always had the same response. “His Majesty is most gracious and generous in his gift giving.” The chest would close and Yusuf would watch one of Arthur’s ladies carry it away to be forgotten on a shelf somewhere.

Yusuf hovered one afternoon, rather than leaving once the chest was put away. He watched Arthur bow and return to his book by the fireplace.

He waited until the Prince’s brother was distracted by a passing lady before he approached the omega again. “May I?”

Arthur seemed surprised that he was still here, glancing around him as if the King would show up at any second with his men and privy council again. He nodded, his hand extended to the chair across from him. “Please.”

“How has your Highness been faring these past weeks?”

“I am content, your Grace. Thank you.”

“Only content?” Yusuf asked gently, leaning forward to see Arthur’s eyes under his lashes.

Arthur glanced at him and then his brother. He nodded. “I enjoy my lessons in the language and history, and dance as well, although…” His eyes drifted to the corner but returned to his book before Yusuf could follow his gaze. “Yes, my Lord, I am content.”

Yusuf drew closer still, lowering his voice. He placed his hand over Arthur’s book to regain his attention. “Young Highness, if I may speak candidly, he can be removed, if you wish.”

Arthur’s eyes grew wide. He glanced at his brother who was now looking their way pryingly. “That isn’t necessary, your Grace,” he whispered. “My father has sent him to watch over me, until…until I’m married.”

“Well, in that case, we are fast approaching the day,” Yusuf beamed, though his smile faltered when it wasn’t reciprocated. He sighed and only spoke up again once the elder Prince’s attention was drawn elsewhere once more. “Are you certain that there is nothing his Majesty might give you that would ease your troubled heart, your Highness? Anything at all?”

“Well…” His resolve crumbled. He closed his book and set it aside with a sigh. “I am content.”

“Very well. I shall be off, though you are welcomed to call on me whenever you have need.” He took his time in preparing to rise from his chair to look around the room, searching for some clue here or there. He remembered to pay special attention to the corner.  “If I may, your Highness, what is that there, wrapped up on top of those scrolls?”

He caught the change in Arthur’s demeanor at once. A private smile etched its way to his face. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure his brother was not watching before he quietly and quickly hurried to fetch it.

Arthur sat down again across from Yusuf, unwrapping the bundle as if it were the one gift he’d waited his entire life to receive. “It is my quadrant, sir, a tool for star gazing.”

Yusuf accepted the large tool with rapt curiosity. “This is marvelous.”

He smiled fondly when it returned to his hands, but his smile grew weak as he explained, “I can’t use it anymore. These windows don’t offer a good view of the stars. I had a sextant as well, back home. It had to be mounted in a room high up in the palace where I could see and map the constellations. I’ve seen a planet or two as well, I think, although my study…was cut short, by my being here.”

By now, his smile was nearly gone, but he eyed the quadrant with affection still.

“If you wish, the King can have a new sextant fashioned for you.” At Arthur’s hesitant frown, he pressed on. “He is forever remorseful for his…prior blundering. My conscience is not burdened to admit that the King, though grand and of the highest blood, is still prone to make a mistake or trespass when in his rut, as is the case for all alphas. Rest assured, however, that when bonded, as you will soon find, his ruts will be near undetectable then. Does this at least give you some comfort, young Highness?”

Arthur’s relief was uncensored. “It does, your Grace, more than my words can express.”

“This is your passion?” Yusuf asked, pointing to the quadrant.

“One of them,” he shrugged shyly. “But…”

Yusuf understood the Prince’s growing sorrow at once. His spirit had seemed to soar but just as quickly fell when his brother’s familiar hand clasped his shoulder.

“My young brother has no need for such things now, your Grace,” Michel condescended and patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Such hobbies are for idle children, not the future provider of the King’s heirs, as you understand, Lord Yusuf.”

Arthur could do nothing but watch his brother remove the magnificent tool from his lap.

Yusuf frowned. “On the contrary, your Highness, many great minds often dedicate their lives to studying the night skies.”

“Well yes, of course, your Grace, but as far as my brother is concerned, his mind should now be geared solely towards pleasing his intended husband. Isn’t that right, Arthur?” Michel smiled when Arthur nodded.

Yusuf rose to his feet quickly when the elder Prince turned. “If my may, your Highness, I would like to keep this for myself, to use in my leisure.”

Arthur looked close to tears when his brother carelessly dropped his quadrant into the Lord Chancellor’s arms.

Yusuf made it a point to wink at him when the elder Prince’s back was turned once more. He bowed low to both princes before leaving, a plan already forming in his mind.

+

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames' luck turns around, and he and Arthur have a connection.

+

 

Eames let his paws sink into the muddy soil, his fur wet from the rain. Through the carnage of the field and thick smoke clouds, he could see what remained of his fallen soldiers.

He wasn’t pleased by the sight at all.

He raced through more scorched fields and swam through streams and creaks still tinged red with blood until he caught the fresh scent of his long searched for prey. Beyond the trees, the bands of rebels were marching back to their camps to celebrate their victories. Eames’ generals followed close behind, bloody and in chains. He howled, letting his entourage of werewolves, his pack, know that he was prepared to attack.

The rebels didn’t see them until the werewolves were already upon them, descending from the foggy hills with their teeth bared. In spite of the rebels' heavy armor, Eames' jaws still smashed, crunching down on flesh and bone, his claws carving deep gorges into their shields.

His great roar echoed over the countryside, drowning out the rebels’ screams until the rain-drenched clearing was covered with more bodies and more blood.

Eames was still pulling arrows out of his chest and arms when one of the rescued generals patted him merrily on the back.

“Your Majesty, this shall be the battle of the ages! Every man from here to Hell shall quake in terror at the very mention of the werewolf ruler of Engston, who, with a band of only seven werewolves, eviscerated an entire legion of rebels.”

He stood with his pack, redressing only enough to be presentable for when they reached the city. “Well, I couldn’t let a bunch zealous farmers get away with killing my brigade, carting off my cannons, my guns, my horses…and certainly not my generals,” he assured them in a deadly tone. He picked a bloody splinter out of his teeth. “Besides, I need you all.”

“Indeed, your Majesty,” another general spoke, smiling. “There will always be more boys to fill the empty boots of the soldiers, but none can easily replace us.”

“No,” Eames corrected him, “that’s _bullshit_ , you fool of a duke." The others all paused to hear the King speak. "You are all supposed to be my most gifted and unbeatable leaders in battle, who reassured me many times over the past month that I need not trouble myself with the campaign, to focus on my marriage preparations, as you all had the revolt under control. And yet,” he rumbled, stepping into the smug general’s personal space, “I trusted you, and let more boys fill those empty boots each time you all lost battles that ought to have been easily won. Now what do I see, when I must appear in person to save the last of you? How you led brigade after brigade to their deaths and turned these once gorgeous fields into mass graves. That is what I see.”

“Ma-Majesty,” the general chuckled nervously, swallowing. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

The King’s eyes glowed gold and he turned, knowing well that the generals would follow. “I will speak more plainly then. I need you all alive so that each and everyone one of you can explain to the council just how you managed to fuck up this campaign as thoroughly as you did. And then, gentlemen, I will kill you all myself.”

+

 

It was a rare occasion when Arthur managed to slip free of his brother and attendants, who were now tripled with the Engston ladies and boys joining his household.

He followed Sophie as she walked and sniffed wherever her nose led her. He was a little worried to have her roam free after being lost that time before, but walking Sophie was just one line of advice that Mal had left for him in her letter. Sophie might not be so jealous of the children, she’d said, if she were familiar with being out of Arthur's lap more often.

Arthur was only just realizing that he ought to have given her the collar the King had made for her so she could be leashed, when she caught sight of a mouse and took off behind it. He couldn’t shout for her or risk giving himself away to the people who were no doubt searching for him, so he chased her as quietly as he could.

Her little tail wagged happily as she burrowed behind a long hanging curtain. Arthur stomped over annoyed and threw the curtain aside.

“Sophie!” he hissed. “Michel will whip us both if he finds us playing in a curtain,” he chided, but his scowl softened when she looked at him through her lashes, her eyes wide and innocent. He shook his head fondly and was crouching to pick her up when he heard male voices drift down the corridor. Fearing that it was his brother, Arthur pulled the curtain back and hid behind it, waiting for the men to pass.

Even worse than his brother, it was the King and his Lord Chancellor whose voices quickly grew nearer. Arthur knew he would be found in a matter of seconds; the one person who could catch his scent in a great hall crowded with so many the way he had during the festival and tennis match would surely know his scent in the empty corridor now.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how angry I was, Yusuf,” the King was saying. “They were so…pompous, so arrogant, even after nearly being led to their deaths in chains by those rebels. I mean, my god, Yusuf, what has happened to my generals?”

“They were your father’s generals before. They’ve grown complacent in their power, lazy, and greedy, and in the face of a real challenge, they proved themselves to be incompetent, your Majesty.”

Lucky for Arthur, the curtain was thick and heavy with the smell of dust and age. The King and his Lord Chancellor passed, still wrapped up in their conversation.

Arthur sat behind the curtain with relief, but Sophie wiggled out of his grasp when he moved to stand. The dog bounded down the corridor and around the corner after the King.

Eames sank into his chair with a tired sigh. He reached for an apple from the table and began to slice it with his thumb claw. He ignored Yusuf’s reproachful glare. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“Use a knife?”

“ _Yusuf_.”

He shook his head. “On one hand, if you convict them of treason, you’ll gain more enemies in the confidants and sons they leave behind, but on the other hand, if you simply retire them to live quiet lives in their estates, then there is no guarantee that they won’t simply turn against you anyways.”

Eames nodded. “I’ll retire them and call their sons to court, to be my gentlemen-in-waiting or have the older ones become part of the pack.”

Yusuf stroke his chin, contemplating the plan. “You would keep the sons in your sight, their fathers would be able to boast of their sons’ high statuses, and in the end, loyalty is maintained. I like it. But there still ought to be a trial.”

“To put the fear of god in those old fools,” the King agreed, smiling.

“The fear of god, indeed, Majesty. And I imagine that when no evidence of treason is found, their subjects, for whom many of the soldiers were family to, would not be very pleased and may want to overthrow those old masters.”

“What a pity that would be,” he lamented sarcastically, distracted by the faint sniffing sound of a small nose circling his ankles. He slid his chair back, startled to have missed the dog’s sneaking in.

Sophie jumped into his lap at once, happy to lick the traces of apple from his fingers and hand.

Eames stared at her with a face twisted in distaste and confusion. In the end, distaste overpowered all else and he dumped her onto the floor, only for her to jump back into his lap.

Yusuf cooed in his chair, positively delighted. Eames stopped her from licking his face, holding her away from him. She was tiny in his hands, and looked sweet—since she wasn’t peeing on him this time around. She smelled faintly like Arthur.

“I just want to rip you to shreds, you little mutt,” he murmured, “or drop you to the river from my chamber pot and watch you drown—”

“Ah, Majesty?” Yusuf rose from the table.

Eames looked up to see Arthur hovering in the doorway. He stood quickly, Sophie still in his hands. “Hello, Arthur.” He cleared his throat, but that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting into knots.

“Majesty,” Arthur bowed politely, stepping forward with a peculiar expression.

“You…you look lovely. You always look lovely, but today, you’re…” Eames had no idea why he was so nervous. He was the King of Engston and had already been a ribbon tie away from getting into his tights once before. Yet still, he feared saying or doing the wrong thing. Of all the times for Yusuf not to speak out of turn, this was definitely not a good time to be silent, not when Eames desperately needed his help.

“Thank you, Majesty,” Arthur said to his feet.

“Uh, here.” Eames dropped Sophie into Arthur’s arm. The rich forest green of Arthur’s tunic made his eyes look dark and deep. Eames felt as if he were contently shipwrecked in their seas.

Yusuf brought him back to the shore. “Majesty?”

He hadn’t realized how far into Arthur’s space he stood until the omega looked away, distracting himself by kissing Sophie’s head.

“I apologize for interrupting your meeting, your Majesty,” Arthur stepped back. “I’m glad, though, to see you play with Sophie.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a whisper of a smile. “She must really like you now. That’s good.”

Eames’ rut was gone, but Arthur’s scent still made his head so foggy. His smile was lopsided and wide.

At long last, Yusuf swooped in to save Eames from staring. “Majesty, I believe you have an invitation to extend to the young prince?”

“Yes.” He blinked, feeling terribly awkward. He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter and sure. “As you know, there will be a banquet tomorrow evening to celebrate our approaching union. I would like for you, and your brother of course, to sit at my side, but beforehand, I would like for you to join me for dinner.”

“Oh certainly, your Majesty.” Arthur bowed. He fought the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear, not used to its length yet. “I…look forward to it.”

After a long pause, he noticed that the King and Lord Chancellor were waiting for him to leave so they could continue their discussion. He quickly bowed again and carried Sophie out into the corridor, his ears turning red under his hair. He couldn’t believe that he still couldn’t be in the same room with his intended without making even a simple talk so painfully awkward.  

“I can’t believe I'm still so awkward, Yusuf. This is madness,” Eames grumbled. “I’m a bloody werewolf alpha. I just ran across the country, scenting my enemy for days, and then leveled their army, and yet…”

“And yet, you get tongue-tied around a pretty boy.”

He tossed up his hands in exasperation. “Exactly!”

Yusuf nodded. “I understand.”

“I can conquer nations, and draft tax plans and budgets in my sleep, but I can’t give him a compliment without…being a bloody ogre. And tell me he liked at least one of the gifts I sent him—Wait, don’t answer that. I already know. ” He rubbed his face.

“Which is why I already have everything taken care of.”

“What do you mean?” His brow rose at Yusuf’s smug grin. “Yusuf, what were you up to while I was away?” he questioned, circling him.

“Would your Majesty like to accompany me to an unveiling?”

“I would indeed, your Grace.”

Eames followed the elder werewolf through the palace, up the large spiraling staircase in the tallest tower. Workmen and servants carrying building materials and furniture up and down the steps paused to bow for the passing King. He nodded at each man and woman, wondering when he’d signed off on a construction project.

He nearly tripped when Yusuf led him through the doorway of the only room on the landing. “My god, what have you done?”

Yusuf beamed at Eames’ wonder and laughed. “I’ve saved you, that’s what. Your Arthur loves the stars,” he explained.

Eames scratched his head. “And this…thing…is used for…?”

Yusuf shrugged. “That’s for Arthur to know and you to improvise.”

Eames glanced over at him for only a moment before grabbing Yusuf and enveloping him in a tight hug. Yusuf chuckled as Eames squeezed him in his arms.

Eames pulled back to look at the elder werewolf. “Yusuf, I swear, if this works, then you and I are going to celebrate, and then I’m going to draft a decree making you my regent in all affairs, whether I be on my deathbed or out in the fields of battle. I swear to you.”

Yusuf couldn't speak for a moment. “Majesty, I… This isn’t…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Yusuf contained his shock and patted Eames’ back before heading for the door again, feeling as if all the power in the world were now bundled up under his hat. “Then let’s draft this decree first, before you get yourself piss drunk on spirits and wake up hungover and forgetful in the morning.”

“Deal. Wait,” Eames called after him, “where are you going?”

“To handle Michel while you give Arthur his new gift!”

+

 

Arthur’s brother was waiting for him when he returned to his rooms. He grabbed Arthur in the crook of his elbow and dragged him impatiently into his bedroom.

Michel eyed him crossly. “Where have you been, Arthur?” He inhaled deeply into the omega’s neck and hands.

Arthur moved out of his reach, annoyed by his constant hovering. “I took Sophie out for exercise and briefly spoke with his Majesty.”

“Without me?” Michel sputtered, eyes wide. “Are you daft, boy? I am supposed to chaperone you whenever you step foot outside of these chambers. He could have stolen your honor! Hell, anyone roaming those corridors with a prick could have taken your honor, and then where would you be? Only petulant brats misbehave like this, Arthur.”

The remainder of his tirade was put on hold when one of the boys stepped into the room, informing Arthur that the King wanted to see him again.

His brother hurried to his mirror to make sure his clothes and hair were presentable before taking Arthur’s elbow again.

Arthur rolled his eyes to the heavens as they walked. In spite of being summoned by the King, his brother still took his precious time in escorting him. He stopped to make pleasant conversation with several passersby and made sure to call the attention of every beta woman that walked near enough, even though he was long married.

All the while, Arthur was his bait to lure them in. They doted over Arthur's hair and clothes and professed their excitement at the wedding and the prospect of seeing him grow heavy with child. Arthur refused to blame his lightheadedness on anything other than hunger.

Lord Yusuf turned the corner like a blessing long wished for.

“Prince Michel.” Yusuf bowed and kissed his cheek politely. “Just the man I needed to see. I beg of you, please, accompany me to my office so that we might discuss the shipment of gifts the King wishes to give to your father.”

“Gifts, you said?” Michel was intrigued at once, drawn in to any subject so long as it circled back to money. “I’m all ears, your Grace.”

And just like that, Arthur was forgotten. The Lord Chancellor’s secretary led him the rest of the way to the stairs and landing within the tower.

He took the steps curiously, momentarily fearful after his brother’s threats of honor-theft. His hands were balled into fists and his shoulders hunched as he walked closer, seeing the King standing next to a large draped thing.

Arthur assumed that it was his portrait finished, but couldn’t understand why it would be placed in front of the window in a dust-covered tower.

Eames positively thrummed with nerves. He hurried to Arthur and took his hands, guiding him into the room. He was a little heartbroken to catch Arthur’s panicked glance over his shoulder. His ladies and boys fanned out close behind him so that he wouldn’t have to be alone with the werewolf king.

“Majesty?”

Try as he might, Eames couldn’t think of anything clever or romantic to say, so he ordered the sheet to be removed instead and stood back, out of Arthur’s way.

Arthur let his mouth fall open and blinked up at the giant sextant and its intricate design. The frame alone was stunning, carved and fashioned into ropes of warring dragons. The brass beams shined in the light of the setting sun. He was grateful that the King and his attendants stood close by, ready to catch him the moment his legs refused to hold him.

He blinked again only to find himself gazing into the King’s worried eyes as he was lifted to his feet.

Eames took his face in his hands. “Are you alright, my darling?” He already braced for the worst. Arthur’s hug took him completely off guard.

Arthur couldn’t help but weep tears of overwhelming joy into the King’s doublet collar. He turned in his arms to look upon the sextant once more and noticed the gold-plated quadrant on the table. “They are both so beautiful. I cannot possibly accept any of this, your Majesty.” All along, he’d been silently mourning the loss of his tools, and yet the King had been working tirelessly to give them back to him, greater and more magnificent than any tool he’d ever seen. And all this was his. This room, so secluded and quiet, peaceful, without the clutter of so many people, was all his. He felt he would go weak again just thinking about it.

Arthur’s attendants still remained close to him as the King led him to the sextant. They admired the detail of its craftsmanship, though Eames’ was focused more on the feeling of Arthur’s hand clutching the back of his doublet and of the other touching on his arm.

Nearly as fast as the thought crossed Eames’ mind, Arthur took a small, shy step to the side and awkwardly held his own hands. Eames frowned at the loss of contact.

Arthur looked up at him, still blurry-eyed and smiling. “Do you enjoy star gazing as well, Sire?”

Eames was prepared to lie, but opted for truth instead. “I much prefer botany, actually.” He chuckled when Arthur wrinkled in his nose in response. “You make it seem like its boring.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“No, no,” the King grinned. “It is rather boring to most people, I admit. But sometimes…there can be real adventure in studying plants.”

His mood shifted, Arthur noticed, but he didn’t speak.

“There is a plant, for example, in the northern forests of Cobelståd that’s rumored to have powerful capabilities,” the King mused. His spirits seemed to dampen the more his explained. “When consumed, this plant serves as a tool for lucid dreaming and navigating effortlessly through the deepest depths of one’s mind.”

“That sounds extraordinary,” Arthur breathed, charmed by the King’s passion.

“I’ve been very close to acquiring this plant several times, but they exist outside of this realm and only by conquering the country of its origin will I ever been able to hold it in my hand and wield its power. It has been the cause of much stress as of late. I imagine, for you, it would be akin to being withheld from the stars.”

“Perhaps very soon you’ll be able to have your wish, Majesty,” Arthur offered, feeling guilty that he would be so happy with his stars and tools while the King had nothing.

“I shall receive news of the campaign in Cobelståd in the morning. God willing, the report will be very promising, however, you need not trouble yourself, my Arthur.”

“But Majesty,” he shook his head, glancing at the sextant reverently, “there is no knowable way to repay you for such a wondrous gift.” He turned to the King and was met by a hand on his stomach and a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Soon,” the King assured him, “you will grant me such blessings that will truly be beyond recompense.” He kissed Arthur's cheek again and fought the urge to growl when one of his own attendants approached him with news and requests. “If you’ll excuse me, Arthur, I must go, but I do look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.”

Arthur let him kiss his hand and forgot to bow before the King left. He looked down at his flat stomach and narrow waist, but then remembered that people were watching him.

He stood in front of the table, his back turned to the boys and ladies who were now looking over the various scrolls and books and tinkering with the quadrant. Arthur was happy to see that his maps had been brought up from his rooms. When his hand rested on his stomach, at the same place where the King’s own hand had been, he didn’t bother to remove it. A little smile played on his lips all the while.

+

 


	6. Chapter 6

+

 

Arthur was beyond startled to find himself being pulled out of bed the next morning.

His bedchamber was in disarray as his boys and ladies pleaded with his brother to unhand him, but Michel couldn’t be swayed.

“Let go of me,” Arthur ordered reflexively, completely lost. "You're hurting my arm!"

Michel shook his shoulders. “What did you do to the King?”

“What? Nothing! I don’t understand, Michel, why are you angry?”

“Did you…did you let him take your honor? Answer me!”

The ladies gasped in shock at his vulgarity.

Arthur paled. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because the King’s campaign in Cobelståd has failed. Therefore, King Dominic has been able to reclaim two of his seized territories,” he explained. “And all of King Eames' generals were arrested for treason this morning.”

Arthur placed his hands over his heart as it sank, remembering how much the King longed for that campaign to succeed. He was torn, saddened by the King's misfortune and guilty that he could not feel happy for the success of Mal's husband. Yesterday had gone so well. It was a tragedy for the morning to ruin the King’s day. “But…why are you blaming me for this?”

“The entire country is blaming you for this. King Eames has never lost a battle, let alone a campaign. What did you do? Did you seduce him? Did you provoke him to touch you? Anything that would distract him from his duties as King, or…or something that would damn the marriage bed?" He paused for a moment before his mind conjured a new theory. "Is it someone else? Arthur, who have you been sneaking around with? Who did you give your omegahead to?” His grip softened as Arthur covered his face and began to cry. Taking his hands, Michel implored him more urgently. “Please, Arthur, for the Great and Holy Mother's sake, this could be the death of you, do you understand, boy? Be honest with me.”

“I haven’t done anything! I swear, Michel! I’ve been here with you, always.”

“What about before I arrived, when you were in your sister’s negligent care? And you snuck away twice yesterday, and then when I returned from my meeting with Lord Yusuf, you were still not here and your attendants, for all the good they’re worth, were missing as well!”

“You Highness,” Lady Catherine, Arthur's former nursemaid, placed her hand on Michel’s arm gently, “please be kind. You're scaring him. There is a perfectly good—”

“Lady Catherine,” he looked at her with surprise, “do not tell me what to do. You are not my elder.” He looked back at Arthur, skepticism and pity warring over his face as he ordered, “Get dressed. We will go to the Queen’s chapel so that you may properly confess. I have half a mind to call the physician so he may examine you and then submit a report of your guilt or innocence, in order to restore your good grace with the people.”

“No, Michel, please!" He wrestled free from his brother's hold. "I’ll go to the chapel, but not that!” 

His brow rose at Arthur's pleading. He crossed his arms. “If you are innocent, why do you protest a simple visit to the King’s doctor?”

"Your Highness, please,” Lady Catherine tried again, letting Arthur take her arm and stand behind her. “Lady Marisol and I can both assure you, from our witnessing his prior examine, that his protest is only from fear. Your brother, Prince Gerard, was here as well and witnessed the doctor’s wrongdoing.”

“That doctor is dead,” Michel countered.

“Yes,” she nodded slowly, her expression masking her disbelief over how oblivious the elder Prince was to his own words, “and his attack on Prince Arthur's person is the reason why he is dead, your Highness.”

+

 

Arthur’s stomach would not cease its unpleasant flipping nor his knees stop shaking until they’d left the chapel and, rather than go to the physician’s offices, Michel escorted Arthur and his attendants back to his rooms.

He sank onto his bed, exhausted from his fretting. When Michel retired to his own room to write a letter to their father, Lady Catherine sat on the bed next to Arthur and petted his hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice embarrassingly cracked.

“Hush, my Prince,” she soothed. “Soon you shall be wed and your insufferable brother will be returned to his duties back home. And when you’re with your first child and the King is utterly smitten—”

“More smitten than he already is,” a boy cut in.

Lady Catherine chuckled. “When he is utterly bewitched by the sight of you with child, you’ll never have to fear another doctor again. You’ll be able to pick and chose who tends to you.” When he nodded, still looking overwhelmed, she smiled. “Now, now my dear, what troubles you still?”

“Is it true that everyone hates me? I haven't done anything wrong, I promise.” 

She wiped at his tears as the others settled on the bed to comfort him as well. “Prince Michel exaggerated, surely." She cut her eye at another lady nervously. "Don’t cry, sweet Prince. So long as the King favors you, you have nothing to fear.”

“But what if he doesn’t? He will blame me too, right?”

“We will make that impossible. Ladies, boys,” she clapped her hands to get them all in attention. “Bring forth all of the King’s gifts, please.” She made Arthur sit up and dried his eyes. “The quickest way to a man’s heart is not just to let him know that you are his, but to show off his claim publicly. So, that is what you will do.”

Arthur grimaced, uncomfortable with the idea, but he nodded, remembering that Mal had left him similar advice in her letter. “It would make him happy.”

“Indeed, your Highness. Now," she stood as the chests of jewels were brought forward and opened for Arthur to see, "which of these marvelous gems shall you wear to dinner, and then what larger piece would you like to wear this evening, for the court banquet?”

+

 

Arthur had never been to the King’s chambers before. He should have been filled with pleasant nervousness, excitement. In fact, the only unpleasant feeling should have been his earrings getting caught in his hair or having to leave Sophie behind with one of the ladies, but his brother had ruined the afternoon before Arthur could even step out into the corridor.

The way Michel looked at him as Arthur was dressed for dinner, and then, when Lord Yusuf arrived to escort Arthur and his attendants himself, as it was made known that Michel had not been invited to this dinner? It would have hurt Arthur less to have been called a whore and disowned outright, instead of the silence and glares.

What was worse, Arthur still had no idea what to expect once in the King's presence. He cursed himself for not doing more to remember the happy feelings that had buzzed inside him at the King’s teasing, or how young the King had looked when he'd smiled, or how his chest had swelled with pride at giving Arthur a gift he actually liked. All those things were surely gone forever, now that the King had lost his bid for Cobelståd.

 

Eames stood still enough for his groom to place the silver and emerald chain of office on his shoulders, but the boy’s hands shook so badly, the chain clattered to the floor.

“F-forgive me, Majesty, I’m so—”

"You've been my groom for months, boy. Either do your job or get out," he growled. Eames glared at him like the boy was a weed that needed to be trampled or pulled. He cut his eye at the others who were drawing back the drapes and setting the table. Everyone was fumbling, afraid, their heartbeats almost deafening to his ears.

The boy finished polishing the chain and tried to fasten it around Eames' neck again, this time successful. He bowed his body nearly in half before hurrying off when the King dismissed him.

Eames paced in his parlor. His battle losses had him too on edge to function without lashing out at random. For a moment, he considered putting the dinner on hold, the banquet, even the wedding—until the usher announced the arrival of his Lord Chancellor and the Prince. He turned to greet them but froze upon seeing Arthur.

He was speechless when the omega curtsied instead of bowing. Gold silk peeked through the decorative slashes in Arthur’s loose black, belted tunic when he moved. Its wide neck hung low on his shoulders, giving Eames a glorious view of his chemise.

“Majesty.” The lilted word issued from Arthur’s lips like a promise, caressing Eames’ ears.

He extended his hand for Arthur to rise and kiss his rings. It was clear by the tremor in the Prince's hand that he too was afraid of Eames. Arthur watched him covertly, his eyes lifting from the floor to Eames’ face with trepidation, misunderstanding the King’s silence. Even his attendants kept their eyes down, as if waiting for Eames to snap and send them off. 

"Highness," he managed to greet him at last. "What a pleasure to see you again." Eames took Athur's hands and pressed his lips to both of them before kissing his cheeks as well. The relief in Arthur's face when he smiled so brightly caused Eames' words to catch in his throat again. 

Arthur was stunning. How could Eames allow his heart to stay troubled when he was too busy falling in love with the shy Prince? No rut or heat to enchant his mind. Just seeing him, hearing his voice, having Arthur near, quelled Eames’ anger beyond belief, even before Lady Catherine cleared her throat loudly, prompting Arthur to look her way. When she touched her hat, Arthur remembered to tuck his hair behind his ear, revealing one of the pearl earrings he'd been gifted.

Eames touched his jaw to see the swinging tear-shaped pearl. "They look even better on you than I could have imagined."

Oh, if only they weren’t surrounded by servants and attendants.

Yusuf cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it.”

Eames managed to look at the elder werewolf long enough to nod and see him take his leave.

Two servants stepped forward with a bowl of fresh water and a towel for the king and prince to wash their hands. The table was covered with a sizable selection of foods.

Five of Arthur’s ladies stood close behind his chair as the rest of the servants and Eames’ attendants hovered near the walls. Eames was curious, but didn’t ask why the women stood where they were.

“So, how is your sister?” he opted to ask instead. “I trust that you write to her? Was her voyage home untroubled?”

“Indeed, Majesty, though, we haven’t written to each other yet.”

“She and her alpha have wed?”

“Yes, Sire. Two weeks ago. Michel informed me of this yesterday, in fact.”

“It was a treaty marriage?”

“Oh no, Majesty, although King Dominic and our father have been allies for many years.”

“King _Dominic_ , you said?”

Arthur paused, his spoon of soup close to his mouth. He looked up at the King with dread. “Yes, Majesty.” He spoke softly. “He and Mal had been hoping for this marriage for quite some time now.”

Eames sat back, looking grim.

Arthur swallowed and carefully reached forward to take his hand. “I deeply apologize for bringing him up, Sire. I will be more mindful from now on.”

Eames pinned Arthur with his gaze, but the Prince never removed his hand. At last, Eames huffed and brought Arthur’s hand to his mouth to kiss. “Perish the thought, your Highness. I may regret saying this in a few years, but I prefer for you to speak openly, freely, whatever your thoughts.”

Arthur’s smile of relief returned, warmed his heart and quelled Eames’ anger again. “How are your other siblings?” Eames asked after a moment.

“Very well,” he supposed. “Gerard enjoys his envoy duties, and I’ve been told that Paul looks forward to his upcoming promotion as a general. He wishes to visit soon, if your Majesty permits?”

"Is he anything like Michel?" he teased.

"Not at all actually," he grinned. "He can be very kind and thoughtful."

“Oh, well then, of course! I look forward to it.”

“Thank you, Majesty. And, Michel writes to our father often, so I assume that he and my mother are in good health as well.”

“You don’t write to your father?”

“No, Sire.”

Eames set down his wine, intrigued. “Is he a good man and king?”

He nodded. “His people love him very much.”

“Only his people?”

Arthur's eyes lowered to his soup. He shrugged. “I don’t know him, honestly. Michel and Gerard live at the palace with him and my mother. Paul, who is of a similar age to Mal, now lives in a castle near the borders, but…Mal and I have always lived in the countryside. She raised me, with the good Lady Catherine, of course. My mother was very young. She was one of Queen Marie's ladies first, and from what Michel has told me, she was only meant to keep the King company, as she did when Mal's mother still lived. Even she did not expect, after being his mistress for so long, to ever conceive me. Whenever Mal is summoned to return to court, I always go with her, but she isn’t called very often.”

“I see.” He didn't want to voice his thoughts on the matter. Arthur seemed content enough with his family, in spite of being treated as if he were an illegitimate son.

Arthur was blocked for a moment by a servant cutting a large slab of boar for the King’s plate. The meat was hardly cooked and bloody, but the King devoured it.

Another servant placed duck on Arthur's plate. The portion was much smaller than the King’s, but thankfully well-cooked.

He tore off bread and quickly gave it to the King when the alpha saw it in his hand. He smiled, watching the King eat. He and Sophie were much the same when it came to table manners. Regardless of the King’s invitation to speak freely, Arthur swallowed that opinion down with his bread and wine rather than voice it.  

Eames caught Arthur suppressing a yawn when the servants stepped back. “Long night, or am I a terrible host?”

“No, no, your Majesty—Well, yes. I mean, yes, I admit that I neglected sleep in favor of the observatory." He smiled sheepishly into his wine. "The skies are so clear at night. And the view from the tower is quite beautiful.”

Eames rested his chin on his hand, listening to Arthur ramble about his stars and theories, witnessing Arthur blossom more and more as he described his favorite constellations. Eames had no idea what he said several times when Arthur had to say a word he didn’t know yet how to translate or when he used a word in Eames’ language incorrectly. Eames didn’t have the heart to correct him. When Arthur spoke, full of confidence and grace, he wouldn’t dare to stop him.

“Duval is a funny name for a country, actually,” Eames found himself commenting when the conversation shifted and slowed.

Arthur’s laugh was boyish and charming. “It means ‘hooked shaped.’” He broke off a small piece of bread and dipped it into his soup. He dabbed the borders of his country on the edge of the bowl. “See?”

The servants cleared the table when they finished their main courses in preparation for dessert.

Every now and then, Arthur would self-consciously touch his ears, playing with the pearls or untangling them from a stray curl.

Eames caught his hand when it reached for his ear again. He smiled as he admired Arthur’s long, slender fingers. Eames pointed to the small ring on Arthur’s forefinger. “Where is this one from?”

“My mother. It had been a gift to her from my father when I was born.”

“And this one? What is this stone?”

“It was a gift from Paul, from one of his missions in the east. I think he called it topaz. He gave Mal a matching one. This one here is my favorite,” he showed him the large amber ring on his opposite hand. 

Eames studied them for a while before touching Arthur’s only bare finger. “I think I like this one best of all.”

Arthur tilted his head. “Majesty?”

“Mine will go here,” Eames explained. “I like it already.”

“Michel says that I should stop wearing these others, when…” he dropped his eyes, blushing.

“It seems like Michel says a lot of things, mostly out of turn.”

"He's right. If I am to be a...a good mate, then I should submit myself to you and your household, instead of..."

Eames squeezed and kissed his hand. “Arthur, I’m not asking you to give up who you were before. My only wish is for you to be who you are, with me, _for_ me.” He sighed when Arthur withdrew a little more. “I fully understand your hesitation, in all of this. You don’t love me; that’s fine. But…I at least would like for you and I to be friends.”

Eames found himself holding his breath for any sign from Arthur that he just might, in time, want the same.

Arthur frowned, looking past Eames’ shoulder to the fireplace. “I… Majesty, that is…far more than I could have ever wished for. Michel says that I shoul—”

“Oh, damn your brother, and pity his wife and children. What words did he have for Mal, I wonder. Nothing kind, I’m sure. I don’t want a servant for my mate, Arthur. Will you accept my offer instead of whatever tales he’s put in your head?”

At last, brown eyes rose slowly, studying him, before Arthur nodded.

Eames stood, holding Arthur’s hand. He kissed it again. “Then I look forward to having you join me, and this grand household of mine, officially, tonight at our banquet.”

Arthur stood and curtsied. He gasped into the King’s mouth when he was surprised with a kiss. 

He couldn’t help but think, standing in his room as Lady Catherine and the others sewed him into his festival clothes, that perhaps Mal had been right about the King all along. 

+

 

The royal court was alive with music and fanfare. The view from the windows glowed in bright, multicolored fireworks. Joyful murmurings buzzed throughout the hall, anticipating the arrival of the King and his Intended.

Everywhere, flags and banners were raised in the colors of all the representing kingdoms. Wolfshire’s burgundies and yellows, Engston’s blues and grays and Eameston’s greens, the white crosses of the Isles, and Milecomté and Duval’s amber, black, and gold.

The tables were covered with displays of foods and wines, including the most popular to the most rare dishes and desserts, from all the realms. Both the King and Prince’s favorites, Eames’ treasured whiskey and meat pies, and Arthur’s beloved waffles covered in strawberries and little cups of espresso, were in great supply.

The King’s furs, his satin grey suit, and his thick and heavy chain of office all underscored his piecing eyes the most out of all his fine features. No matter that the celebration was in honor of his engagement to the Milecomté prince, the court was still filled with many broken hearts and scorned hopefuls, pining for King Eames' attention.

Their hearts were further shattered when the Prince arrived soon after. Eames considered himself the most heartbroken of all.

Arthur’s soft marble colored doublet, reminiscent of wedding clothes, complimented Eames’ darker hues. His suit was decorated with thin ropes of gold embroidery down the sleeves, its hems all sewn with lovely ribbons that matched the silk bow fastening of Arthur’s necklace, peeking from under his hair.

This detail struck Eames the hardest. The necklace had been one of Eames’ favorites and one of the only gifts to Arthur that had been a family heirloom. However, Eames’ grandmother or mother had never worn it so perfectly. It had to have been created for Arthur to wear, someday. The long, double strings of pearls were gathered together by two little bronze dragons. The three large rubies glittered on every catch of light in the room and only accentuated the elaborate gold pendant with its sparkling diamonds and hanging pearls that was pinned to the breast of his doublet.

The hall fell silent as Arthur and his company walked through the parting crowd. Eames wasn’t aware of when he’d stood from his chair and stepped forward, feeling as though all the beauty and wonders of the world had been drawn up into one boy, or perhaps all else had simply fell away all together, leaving Arthur as the only precious entity to remain.

Arthur and his party curtsied and bowed, his brother and Lady Catherine standing not far behind. Eames found himself lost in the depths of Arthur’s eyes again.

“Majesty.”

“Your Highness.”

Arthur stood on his tiptoes to kiss Eames’ cheek. The hall erupted in excited whispers.

Eames’ lopsided grin returned. He hoped to feel those soft, shy lips again. His heart soared when his wish was granted and Arthur kissed his other cheek. Arthur blushed and chuckled into his hand when he stepped back, seeing Eames' expression.

“Will you dance with me?” Eames asked some time later, cutting short Michel's attempts to charm him. He'd watched Arthur tap and sway his hand in time with the music on the arm of his chair for most of the evening and couldn't resist the temptation free them both from the elder brother's meddling.

Arthur glanced from Eames to the floor bashfully. “Your Majesty, I’m not very good at it, at all. I was always taught to lead, but now…the opposite has proven quite difficult.”

“I’m not so good either, my Arthur, even after years of practice,” he laughed, finishing his wine. “But who would dare to judge us for stepping on their toes or knocking them over?” When Arthur joined him in laughing at the image, Eames stood and extended his hand.

Their audience clustered near the walls, giving them an open floor. They danced a volta, close and private, though the room was filled with watchful eyes. Each time he lifted Arthur into the air, the fires of passion burning within Eames’ soul grew so much brighter, hotter. His hold was firm and sure for one who claimed not to dance well. His lie amused Arthur, who himself only missed a step once.

By the time the court rejoined them on the floor for a basse danse, Arthur and Eames were inseparable.

 

When the festivities drew to an end, Arthur let his brother walk ahead and quietly ordered the attendants to follow Michel. He slowed his pace until they all disappeared around the corner. Quickly, he backtracked to where the King and Lord Yusuf had been talking, near the hall.

He peeked around the curtains that separated this small set of rooms from the larger court. They were in the company of the King’s entourage, but still they talked mostly to each other as if his pack and brothers weren’t there.

“No, no, no, Yusuf,” Arthur heard the King say, “we cannot let them waste anymore time. This wedding shall _not_ be postponed any further.”

“I’m sorry, Majesty, but we have to wait for the cardinals’ return, and if the weather persists, their voyage shall remain delayed.”

“They have until the end of the week, and after that…you’ll just find a priest and have him perform the ceremony in a bloody cave, if we must.”

Arthur was only eavesdropping to see more of the King before going off to bed, but he was distracted for a moment by the two wolves lounging in front of the fireplace. He’d never really noticed their presence before. They frightened him, even as docile as they appeared.

“Alright, we'll...figure something out to have the wedding proceed as planned."

"Oh, thank god. That's all I need to hear tonight."

"You are becoming so fond of him, Eamesie.”

“ _Fond_? You don’t understand, Yusuf,” the King professed. “He…he has already ensnared me. I am his captive, and he, the master of my heart _and_ my mind.” 

Arthur stepped back, his breath catching. Panicking, he hurried away down the corridor after his brother before he could be caught snooping.

That night, he lay in bed, wide-awake and staring up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to get his heart to stop beating so loudly. He tried to sleep, but all he could think of was the King’s words. His cheeks hurt from smiling. He couldn’t help it.

He wasn’t even tired when he crept out of bed, too filled with nervous energy. Sophie whined from her plush little bed on the floor. He thought to leave her in the room, but her crying would only wake his brother in the next room, so he let her come with.

He crept outside with the help of a young guard and made the assent to the tower in silence.

The guard held out his hand and went before them when they reach the landing. Arthur peeked around the corner at the sound of muffled voices. He gasped, surprised at what he saw. His smile blossomed again. The guard bowed low, excusing himself, and joined the King’s man, back out on the landing.

The King was in his sleeping gown and robe as well, looking a little a sheepish to be caught by Arthur in the observatory. “You’re supposed to be asleep, your Highness,” he teased. “Prince Michel is not playing a proper nanny as he should.”

Arthur laughed and blushed. “Majesty.” He bowed, staring at the King’s slippers. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I. Forgive me,” the King extended his hand for Arthur to take it, “but…I was still intrigued by the sextant and wished to look upon it, only to realize that I still had no clue just how it worked.”

Arthur stepped fully into the room and took the King’s hand. “If you wish, I could…I could show you how, if you’d like, your Majesty.”

“Yes,” he nodded, his smile making Arthur’s grow. “I would like that very much."

+ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited about the next chapter! :D
> 
> *cues the wedding bells*


	7. Chapter 7

+

 

Eames took a deep, calming breath, as the morning sun’s light poured in through the windows. His barber took the utmost care to trim his shadow of a beard and combed his hair just right.

He was slipped into his chemise and tights, his codpiece stitched with precision, his boots polished and latched. What little softness he carried around his middle, he sucked in when his gold, woven doublet was laced and tied snug. The seamstresses were sliding on his hose and adjusting his sleeves when Yusuf walked into his rooms.

The elder werewolf wore his finest silk sashes and sharovary from Sansar. He looked upon the King with pride. “This will certainly sound ridiculous, but you glow, your Majesty.”

Eames’ smile stretched from ear to ear. “Not ridiculous, but true. I feel it, like…my spirit has been washed clean and as pure as my Intended. I’m overjoyed that this marriage will be one of peace and happiness, for both myself and Arthur.”

Yusuf cleared his throat and hid the handkerchief that blotted a tear from his eye.

“My Lord?” Eames asked, “are you…are you relieved that I didn’t ruin my courtship totally?”

He laughed, but his voice was raw when he spoke. “My heart is filled, as it is so often, with the pride of a father, though I have no sons of my own, Majesty.”

Eames’ smile faltered, but not from sadness.

Yusuf stepped back when Eames stretched out his arms, his face a mock of disgust. “You don’t intend to kiss me again, do you, Eamesie? Now you see why I withhold most sentimentalities.”

Eames laughed merrily, cuffing his arm instead. “Shut up, you old fool. I pray that your wedding gift makes up for your continual insolence.”

“I was supposed to bring you a gift, your Majesty?” he scratched his chin and playfully grimaced. “ _Oh dear_.”

 

Arthur’s rooms were abuzz with excitement as his attendants cleaned every surface of his bedchamber, preparing it for the night to come. They rushed here and there with arms full of new blankets and rugs and fashioned veils and curtains to his bed’s ornate canopy.

“Your wedding clothes should be ready in a moment, your Highness,” the seamstresses beamed.

He was presented with a platter of sweets from King Eames' cooks, but even if he liked the taste of Engston food - he did not - his stomach would agree to nothing, holding his appetite hostage. Sophie ate most of the treats out of Arthur's hand as a lady combed and styled his hair for the small crown he would wear.  

He glanced at the only other quiet person there. Michel sat in the corner like a shadow, trying not to stand out, even though his book lay in his lap forgotten. The elder Prince noticed Arthur’s stare and forced a quick smile before looking away. Even though he had been distant their entire lives, his silence was still strange.

“Are you troubled, brother?”

“Just thinking, that’s all.”

“Of?”

“Nothing, just that…” He sighed and dropped the book on the table beside him. “You have nothing of our father in you. You look exactly like your mother, and...and you remind me so much of Marie on her wedding day.”

Arthur was surprised by Michel’s words. He cleared his throat before asking, “What is she like, my mother?”

He thought it over for a while before answering, “ _Cripplingly_ _annoying_ , but…pretty, graceful, and easily the life of a party, and she makes father very happy, which for a man his age, is all he needs.”

He chose to ignore Michel’s slight in favor of asking him a new question. “And Marie?”

“Oh, she was exquisite. The embodiment of what a queen ought to be, as was mine and Gerard’s mother. What a shame that she was taken away so prematurely. She treasured Paul and Mallorie, and all of us, really, and would have doted on you as if you were her own, much like Mallorie has done," he mused. "She was a very loving and gentle woman, until your mother came along. Then Marie transformed into a nightmare," he huffed. "Gerard and I were certain that she would poison father, rather than allow him to cavort around the kingdom with his whore, but—” He paused, his mouth open as if an apology played on his tongue but it wouldn’t come out.

"I see." Arthur’s eyes dropped to Sophie, as he too was lost for words.

“Your Highness, it’s time to get dressed,” Lady Anne informed him.

Both he and Michel stood at the same time. The elder Prince walked over, his brow furrowed. He still looked pained, but in the end, he gave up searching for what he really wanted to say to Arthur. He took Sophie and handed her to one of the ladies before he cupped Arthur's face and kissed his cheek.

He stepped back and bowed quickly. “Arthur, I…” he muttered, his frown deep set, but he smiled once more when he looked at Arthur. He bowed, more sincere. “I will wait for you in the parlor…your Majesty.”

+

 

As early as dawn, the people ventured from the countryside to city, to stand outside of the royal church and along the road that led back to the palace, in the hopes of glimpsing their King and the future Queen.

All the court nobles in attendance were in their finest silver garments as the King and Prince would be in shimmering gold.

Reverent whispers and admiration filled the church as Eames donned the new crown of the united realms of Engston, Eameston, and Wolfshire for the first time. He wore the sash of his grandfather’s tribe, and upon his shoulders rested a long, trailing coat of white marble-hued scales and white fur from the first dragon he’d slain. His chain of office glittered with amber, in honor of Arthur’s father’s kingdom.

The court bowed as he walked down the aisle. His two wolves followed at his heel. They sat on either side of the gilded pulpit where the high priests lit their incense and candles and began the first ceremony for the King to give up his former life as an alpha without a mate.

Eames tried not to fidget. It would only be a few hours before he and Arthur would be officially wed, and yet it felt as if a lifetime stood between them. Not to mention that his pack had seen right through his indignation at their congratulating his imminent 'conquering of the Milecomté prince.' He put on a mask of authority and indifference and did his best to ignore both his pack _and_  Yusuf, whose eyes were already wet with unshed tears.

But his inhale was audible when Michel and Arthur entered the mouth of the hall. A crown of gold leaves, representing the long history of neutrality of the House of Miles, was placed atop the young Prince’s hair by Michel, who wore his own, more intricate version, before he took Arthur’s hand and led him towards King Eames. Michel was in his usual black, but Arthur looked to Eames like a young pagan god. His golden robes were long and billowed around his feet. The sheer dark burgundy shawl hanging from his shoulder was clasped with a large brooch from the King’s collection of gifts. He held his head high, but his eyes were still on the ground, no doubt vigilant and careful of every step he took.

The elder Prince bowed low before stepping away. Arthur curtsied and took King Eames' hand. He had no idea he’d been trembling until the King squeezed his hand. The alpha looked so rigid and strong, as if he got married everyday. But as much as Eames made a show of looking stern, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from staring at Arthur as they stood before the high priests.

Arthur wasn’t so strong. He kept glancing over, hardly paying attention of the priests’ ceremonies and words in yet another language he didn’t understand. He blushed when he glanced over at the King again and managed to see a crack of a smile from his otherwise serious face.

Eames squeezed Arthur’s hand again, chiding him silently to stand still. He himself was nervous beyond belief, as if this wasn’t the most peaceful and painless task he’d ever had to perform—but no one else needed to know that. He wanted to look at Arthur too, but as King, it would extremely inappropriate to do what he wanted to do to Arthur in a holy church, even though a few of these people would be present tonight for the consummation. He let the claws on his free hand extend discreetly, the pain a distraction from the thought of consummating with Arthur.

A blush bloomed on Arthur’s cheeks and ears when the faint scent of arousal drifted from the King. Arthur glanced from him to the priest and back down to his feet. It was like he’d jumped in a freezing lake, the reality was that jolting. This was happening, this was really, truly happening and he really, truly was in the middle of vowing his life away to King Eames.

For a moment, he panicked and thought of running. To where, he had no clue, but Eames squeezed his hand again and rubbed the top if it with his thumb. It was a calming gesture visible to anyone with eyes good enough to see Eames’ gloved hand move against Arthur’s naked one. Arthur tried to take a deeper breath, but his clothes were too tight.  He kept his eyes open, trying not to blink, knowing he would faint if he did.

He was dizzy when he and King Eames turned to each other and accepted the high priests’ offering of ceremonial bread that they would break together and eat, and the glittering cup of wine they would both sip from. Arthur didn’t know that the sharing of food and drink was the final ceremony. He was a little startled when the hall erupted in applause. He didn’t feel like he was in his own body when they turned to face the witnessing court and the raining flower pedals and showers of confetti.

Eames finally let himself relax and smile, not caring for decorum now that Arthur belonged to him in the eyes of the church and law. He grabbed his waist, surprising Arthur, and kissed him for far longer than was appropriate, though kissing was the most innocent thing he could do, _considering_.

Outside of the church, the fanfare could only be heard for a moment before the crowds’ cheers drowned out all else.

Eames helped Arthur mount his horse for the parade back to the palace. He knew it would be difficult to talk and be heard in the midst of so much noise. Nevertheless, he made sure his horse stayed close to Arthur’s and when the Prince looked at him now, he return each nervous grin with a bright smile and a wink that made both he and Arthur laugh.

 

In the royal court, they sat hand in hand, as each noble family presented them with gifts. Eames cut his eye at Arthur’s mechanically polite responses as the Prince was given chest after chest of jewelry.

“I have a rather insane theory that I’d like to run by you, my darling,” he spoke low near his ear. When he gained Arthur's attention, he explained, “Something tells me you that hate all of this.”

“Oh, I—No. I—” He blushed and gave up. He leaned in as close as he could, inadvertently tickling Eames’ ear with his lips, “My apologies. I mean never to offend you or your court, Sire.”

“Of course not. _But_?”

“But… Well,” he searched for the words as everyone around them tried to eavesdrop over the music, “perhaps I’m just not used to Engston customs yet. These are all magnificent, but I would rather—No, that’s not it. What I mean to say is that I can only envision myself gifting them all to Mallorie, or…to those people who stood outside of the church. Those women would look lovely wearing the jewels from these chests or I see them even exchanging one or two for meat and goods since winter will be here soon.”

“I see…” In truth, he’d never considered any of this.

“Majesty, I am still and will always be most grateful for everything that you wish for me to have. Again, I beg you, I mean no offense, nor…wish to imply anything about your court and countrymen.”

He kissed Arthur’s hand to help settle the Prince’s nerves. “We’re all still trying to learn how best to accommodate you as a male wife, which, before you was entirely unheard of. Blunders and assumptions will no doubt be common until the court is able to learn more about you.”

He kissed the King's hand back and smiled. “You are my king and my husband. You can do no wrong by me, Majesty.”

Eames chuckled fondly, though inside, Arthur’s immediate, blind devotion both excited and frustrated him to no end. “I ought to have that phrase carved in stone, for when the fog of our newlywed days clears and you see me for who I really am. What name did Lord Yusuf coin for me? The Alpha Brat of Wolfshire? Yes, I think that’s correct—And look who it is,” he proclaimed when Yusuf stepped forward, “the old devil himself.”

Yusuf bowed and kissed Eames’ ring. “Majesty, Highness.”

“My Lord,” Eames greeted. “What great gift have you for us?”

“Your Majesty has always been gifted abundantly with my knowledge and wisdom. What could be a greater gift than that?”

“Well, in that case, I shall starve on my wedding day and be cold and hungry come the Winter Solstice.”

Arthur watched the two tease each other and smiled behind his hand when Yusuf leveled King Eames with a reproachful eye.

“But as for his Highness,"Yusuf continued, "most rare and beautiful indeed, I give to you the grandest of my houses and my new printing press, to join your growing collection of tools in your observatory.” He bowed. “If it please you, you may share these gifts with your husband, his Majesty.”

Arthur beamed, his spirit bright. “Thank you, your Grace. Not a day goes by that I haven’t been grateful for all that you’ve done in helping me feel at home here.”

Yusuf nodded and bowed, realizing now that Arthur knew full well who’d actually gifted him the observatory. He grinned, but held in his mischievous laughter, trying hard not to think of how the King would manage once he too learned of Arthur’s dagger-sharp wit.

When the food and wine and conversation lulled, Arthur steeled himself before standing, still holding the King’s hand.

The music and chatter stopped to hear him speak. “Majesty,” he bowed, “you have bestowed upon me much affection and hospitality, which rank highest in my heart among any gift I could ever receive, and so I wish to gift you as well, most humbly. Will you accept these four thoroughbred racing horses from Milecomté?” He turned and nodded at Michel who clapped his hands. Outside the large opened the glass doors. The stable boys guided the four steeds in circles in the grass for the hall to see each one.

Eames stood, his face alight with joy just at the thought of riding those horses with Arthur or Yusuf through the countryside. “Your Highness would have me spoiled long before our marriage was yet a day old!” He squeezed Arthur in his arms as the hall applauded.

With a kiss, he guided Arthur to the floor for the first dance with his smile still splitting his cheeks.

 

In the evening, when the dancing and feasts were done, they all gathered in the garden for a play depicting the King’s greatest battles.

Arthur swallowed, a little buzzed from so much wine and in the cold air of the candlelit grounds. He reached for the King’s hand and held it in his lap, playing with the large rings on each thick finger.

He was kissed on the cheek just as the actors in the sea monster’s costume were defeated by the singing man in the giant wolf’s fur and tail. 

+

 

The fire in the hearth bathed the room in a soft, warm glow. Arthur stood with his arms out for his attendants to loosen the ribbons and ties on his sleeves and doublet hems. He inhaled deeply, relaxing as he was freed from the rigid confines of his tight, thick woven bodice and stepped out of the slender hose. His chemise was exchanged for a sheerer, ornate nightgown. His silk tights were folded with the rest of his clothes and taken away as the chests for his jewelry was brought forward.

It was routine enough, this process of undressing for bed, only… This felt like a ritual, preparations for a ceremony, or sacrifice, and in truth, it was just that. 

As much as Arthur tried to remain poised and at ease, fear still began to build as the minutes passed by, closer and closer to the King’s arrival. He cursed himself for being so shy, wanting more than anything just for the opportunity to ask someone if it was okay to be horrible at pleasing his husband on the first try. And what if it would hurt, being claimed, like the doctor’s inspection had? What would he do then? Would he be permitted to voice his displeasure and distress? Arthur supposed most likely not. This wasn’t meant to be a passionate act between lovers in the dark, but the consummation of a contract. He simply hoped the King’s friendship would be worth all this when the night was over.

Lady Anne was still brushing his hair when the first witnesses arrived in his bedchamber. His attendants retreated to the walls and corner chairs as the priests began their blessings around the room. Arthur’s hands were beginning to shake when he knelt for his blessing and prayer. 

Shared whispers ceased when the King arrived in his gown and fur-lined robe. By now, even Arthur’s breaths were shaky. He remained kneeling until the King stepped forward and took his hands.

"Omega," King Eames addressed him ceremoniously, kissing his cheeks.

"Alpha," Arthur remembered to respond, a little annoyed by the audible sigh that passed through the witnesses. 

As if sensing his anxiety, or perhaps feeling the same, Eames kissed Arthur’s cheek and addressed their guests. “Leave us,” he ordered quietly, even to the attendants.

The doors closed behind the last boy, the only sound the crackle and pop of the wood burning in the fireplace, now that they were alone.

A part of him wished that at least one of his ladies could have stayed. The King seemed so much larger than Arthur was used to, his presence that much more overwhelming with no one else here. Arthur could only manage to gather up enough courage to look about his chest, which was still something of an accomplishment—better than staring at his feet. He huffed out a breathless laugh when the alpha bent sideways to search for his eyes, a playful smile on his husband’s face. For a moment, Arthur forgot his fear. This was, after all, the man who’d sat with him in the observatory for the past two nights, attempting and failing to identify a single constellation. 

Except, now, the King was removing his robe and furs, letting them fall to the floor. Arthur was lightheaded of a sudden, seeing that his husband’s cock was already hard for him under his nightgown. 

The King took his hands gently, his kind smile belying his lust as he breathed deeply Arthur’s scent in his hair and neck. His voice was rough and low when he spoke. “Are you well and ready for me, my Arthur?”

Arthur swallowed and took a step back, needing space, his heart beating out of his chest. At last, he nodded. “Yes, your Majesty.”

His robe was taken from his shoulders to join the King’s by his feet. Even in their gowns, Arthur felt as though they were already naked. The King took him into his arms. He let himself be kissed, but did not expect his husband's rough devouring so soon. He remembered the passion with which he’d kissed the King in his guest chambers so many weeks before and tried to light that fire again. If he could just do that, to propel himself forward, then he could get through the night.

Arthur felt the back of his thighs touch the bedside table. Eames drew back, keeping their foreheads together. His lips were kiss swollen as he gazed into Arthur’s eyes with an all-consuming hunger. Strong hands traveled from his arms up his shoulders and to his neck. Arthur gasped, startled when his husband ripped open the front of his gown, revealing his chest and stomach. His skin glowed in the firelight.

“Look at you,” the King purred, appreciative in his study, his eyes golden. He held Arthur's hair aside to lay a trail of kisses over his neck, and hiking up Arthur's gown to bare his long legs.

Eames drew back for air once more. His eyes locked with the omega’s. “Arthur.”

“Husband?”

He chuckled, delighted in the sound. “I was going to say that you may call me Eames in private, as I like that best, however… I do enjoy hearing husband as well.” Eames urged him to sit on the edge of the small table. Arthur was panting, blushing and speechless when Eames lifted his gown high enough to see his hardness. Reflexively, Arthur tried to cover himself, but Eames patted his hand away. His fingertips traced up his thighs. He squeezed Arthur’s bare hips possessively. “Kiss me.”

Arthur wet his lips as his gown was pulled over his head and tried to do as he was told, but gave up only a moment later. Burying his face in the King’s chest, he groaned miserably.

Eames frowned. He made Arthur sit on the bed against the headboard. When Arthur drew his legs in close to his chest, Eames sat near him, rubbing his leg. “Arthur?” He kissed the top of his head, as that was all Eames could see of his face hidden behind his knees. “Darling, what’s wrong? Was I… We can go slower, if you wish?”

“No, it's just that…” Arthur sat back, rubbing his face. “You’re so sure of…what you’re doing and what you want, and I…" he shrugged, "I have no idea what I’m doing,” he laughed bitterly. "You would gain more pleasure from asking a nun to kiss you instead of me. I am handicapped by my ignorance while you soar with confidence. Forgive me, Husband."

“There's nothing wrong with that, my darling. You've been cloistered all your life like a maiden, while I’ve had the privilege of acquiring a bounty of experience.”

Arthur’s shoulders sank, hearing him say that. Of course he wouldn’t be his husband's first. He’d been silly and naïve to assume otherwise. The alpha probably had a string of mistresses and youths everywhere, for who would or could deny him? Arthur’s chest hurt to think of it. "Then..." he sighed, "I fear there is no way that I might please you better, or even compare to those others."

Eames smiled, taking Arthur’s face in hand. “You needn’t worry, my Arthur. It is my duty to lead and be most knowledgeable in all things. Besides, what we have is different, _special_ , and most sacred, because you are my mate and my omega. We are new to each other, even in regard to your anatomy. This shall be an adventure and mystery for us to explore, together. Yeah?”

Arthur thought it over for only a moment before he nodded. “I will follow your lead, Husband.”

“All you need do is just to let me love you and take care of you,” he assured, hooking his hands under Arthur’s knees to pull him down the bed. He lifted his gown over his head and smiled again when he heard Arthur gasp, proud that his mate found him attractive. Hesitant fingertips traced his stomach and traveled lower. Eames couldn’t hold back his groan when those fingers touched the head of his leaking cock. “See? You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Emboldened by the change in his husband’s scent and his praise, he took Eames’ cock more firmly in his hand and felt him buck in his loose hold. He let his hand fall to the side when Eames planted himself between his legs, his cock now acquainted with Arthur’s. He let Eames kiss him again and tried to mimic all that he felt the King do.

Eames reveled in his shy kisses and touch. He dipped his cock between Arthur's legs, ready to coat it with the wetness he expected to find, but none was there. Arthur gasped into his mouth as Eames’ hand felt about the hidden sex. He kissed Arthur soundly and stroked his cock quickly, making him moan and buck under him. His lips dragged across his collarbones, his free hand pinning Arthur’s wrists playfully. Hushed sighs of pleasure filled his ears, commanding him to touch or kiss deeper until Arthur was covered in a light sheen of sweat and flushed from head to toe. 

He reached between Arthur's legs again. Still nothing. Not even as Arthur writhed with Eames’ tongue rolling over a hardened nipple roughly. Arthur’s back arched, his legs drawing closed around Eames of their own accord. Eames pushed them back open, his lips trailing down his stomach.

Arthur’s eyes fell closed. He mewled, feeling embarrassingly faint under Eames’ unrelenting attention. He knew where his husband was headed as his lips passed over his navel and the bed of downy curls just below it, or so he thought, until pleasure bloomed from that new, unfamiliar place. He tried to see what Eames was doing, disbelieving that someone – _the King of Engston_ – would look so hungry with his mouth latched to such a place.

Eames grew hopeful, and even harder, as Arthur nearly sung, but when he withdrew, no wetness followed him. When he delved deeper with his tongue, he was met with resistance.

Arthur shivered, feeling Eames’ thumb circle his perineum. A wounded scream burst out of him as blinding pain seized his body.

“Arthur? Arthur, my god, are you alright? I’m so sorry.” Panicking, Eames quickly tried to remove his thumb but slowed when Arthur jolted in pain again. “Hey, hey.” He moved carefully over Arthur to his face. Arthur’s hands were balled into angry fist; his lip would bleed if he bit down any harder. “Darling, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Breathe, just breathe deep and slow.”

Arthur tried to look at him and relax, but his eyes blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tears. “Forgive me, Sire. I don’t know what to do.”

Eames wanted to ask if Arthur had had another heat since his examination, but he already knew the answer to that and knew what that meant. He tried to stop his spirit from withering, but his shoulders sank anyways. “Damn,” he cursed, try to think of a solution, though there was none.

Arthur quickly wiped his eyes dry. “I’m sorry, Majesty.” His hands covered his diminishing arousal, hoping Eames wouldn’t see it. “We can try again, in a moment. I’m fine.”

“No, no. You’re just… You're just not ready yet, that’s all. It was not taken into account that you required a full heat before your body could ever receive me. I supposed, after what happened before, that it wouldn't take this bloody long, but... Now the wedding was rushed for nothing since we cannot consummate it properly.” He propped his head on his hand, still lying over Arthur’s legs.

Arthur tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He pulled the corner of the sheet over his middle, not enjoying this nakedness at all now. “Do you…Please do not regret marrying me, Husband.”

His eyes were downcast, his cheeks pinking, when Eames glanced up at him. With dread, he realized how what he’d said had clearly come out wrong. He rushed up to lay closer to Arthur’s face. He kissed and petted his hair until Arthur turned his way again. “Well… In truth, it wasn’t…entirely for nothing.”

Arthur’s eyes were guarded, his frown deep set.

“There are still so many other parts of you that I may claim in the meantime,” he explained, his brow raised impishly, trying to make Arthur happy again.

“I know you care nothing for those parts." Arthur muttered, wiping his eyes again. "None of those parts are so important as the one currently denying us both."

“Oh hush." His kissed Arthur's frown. "They are just as important to me. And _far less complicated_ _than that temperamental omegahead_ , my darling, because all those parts are attached to you as well,” he teased, and smiled, relieved to see Arthur’s mood shift even just a little. “Like, for example…this elbow,” he kissed it, “that I ought to acquaint myself with before it assaults me in the dark of night if you should ever have a nightmare when we’re asleep together. And then…there’s this hand, which I enjoy kissing as well, even more now that its finger wears my ring." He kissed each finger and it palm. "And…your neck, your very graceful, very perfect neck. Also, these little pebbles,” he whispered, lingering to kiss Arthur’s nipples until they hardened again, “which need a lot of attention.” He listened to Arthur’s breath grow labored and unsteady as he moved the sheet aside. Eames waited until his back arched before nipping at his ribs. He smiled against Arthur’s skin when the omega gasped at being tickled.

“Majesty, please,” Arthur panted, watching Eames’ mouth and hands travel to every single place they could reach. He was positively vibrating when Eames found his way between his knees, his stubble tickling down his thighs. 

Eames longed to taste Arthur, was near to begging and calling the priests back into the room for a miracle. Hearing Arthur moan, feeling him moved beneath him, made him want to simply take Arthur any way that he could. He could have oils brought in, slip his cock inside his lovely ass and make him scream, but he would neither waste his seed nor fuck him as he might some common beta youth.

He knew it was useless to check one more time, but he couldn’t help it. He and Arthur both lost their steam when still no heat was inspired.

Eames flopped down on the bed beside him. “Well…” They looked at each other, Eames disappointed and Arthur worried. “Do you want me to stay, or do you wish to sleep and try tomorrow?” When Arthur’s eyes filled with tears and he turned away, Eames sighed and got up. He was slipping his gown back over his head when he heard Arthur speak.

“Majesty… Husband.”

“Yes, darling?” He turned glanced behind him. Arthur had the sheet wrapped tightly around him as if air or the glow of the fire on his skin would turn him green. It was endearing enough that Eames sat back down on the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I insist. Perhaps it’s just the pressure of getting married and being in a foreign place, I mean, what were you doing to inspire your first heat?”

“Nothing!” he laughed bitterly and shrugged. “I ate grapes and watched people dancing.” 

“Then perhaps there may be some…unknown health benefit to these grapes for omegas. We’ll have you eat a bowl of them in the morning and see. But you must stop blaming yourself. This my first order as your husband.”

He forced a sad smile. “Yes, Majesty.”

“Good. Then, good night, my Arthur.” When he began to rise again, Arthur reached for his arm.

“I… It is cold in here at night, Husband.”

“Oh, well… I will have someone stay here to stoke the fire for you, then, when I leave,” when Arthur dropped his eyes and his shoulders sank, Eames quickly added, “ _or_ …I could stay here myself…and keep you warm? At least, for a while longer.” He was thrilled when Arthur held up the sheets for him to slide back into bed. In truth, if he could stay here forever, he would. In the midst of all that had gone wrong, this was one good result from the night’s events, to discover that Arthur liked having him around, particularly when naked. “Would you like for me to fetch you your gown?”

Arthur blushed and wrinkled his nose. “It’s in tatters.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“I didn’t mind.” In truth, he had been terrified, but Arthur was good at keeping secrets.

Eames sighed, surprisingly content when Arthur let Eames nestle him to his chest. From the awkward way his held his head, not tense or relaxed, Eames could tell that Arthur was listening to his heartbeat against his chest.

He turned his head away to let the fire’s glow lull him to sleep, but he wasn’t tired, and would have to return to his own bedchambers before dawn.

“Husband?” Eames heard Arthur whispered over the faint roar and crackle of the wood burning.

“Yes, darling?”

“I promise that I will find a way to bring back my heat.”

He kissed Arthur's forehead and combed back his wild curls. “Perhaps in another day, or another week, it will come. Don’t fret, my Arthur. It won’t be a long wait.”

+


	8. Chapter 8

+

 

Yusuf pinched the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the inevitable storm he was about create. “Eamesie.”

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “You know very well that I care a great, great deal for Arthur, but—”

“Oh for god’s sake, get out,” he groaned, turning his back.

“It’s been two and a half _months_ and still no consummation.”

“Do you think I don’t already know this? What the fuck do you think we do when I visit his bedchamber every night? Hm? Do you think we hold hands and knit?”

“Majesty, I beseech you, as your humble advisor and as your oldest and constant friend, _take a mistress_.”

Eames’ mouth was open to yell more, but he faltered. For weeks he’d been pestered by every single person who felt entitled enough to preach to him about his own marriage, tossing around accusations that Arthur was dishonest, not a true omega, hidden under every word of false concern. But he’d not expected this from Yusuf.

“A mistress, Yusuf? Are you insane?”

“You know that I would never suggest such a thing in any other circumstance, but the situation is critical now. You punched your brother in the teeth, Eames. Take a mistress, release the floodgates of tension, so you can bloody relax.”

He only let one heartbeat pass to think it over. “No.”

“Eames—”

“I said no! I refuse to sully this marriage in any way! I shall not be my father,  _or_  Arthur’s, sneaking around behind curtains and in the dark of night, and then pretending to be so just and righteous in the company of my suffering mate. If I have to wait the next  _three years_ , I bloody fucking will!”

“Only you know that that will be impossible. Your marriage would be forced to be annulled long before then. If not for the sake of your future kingdom then for Arthur.”

Eames rushed at Yusuf, grabbing his collar. “What have you heard? Who is still harassing my mate?”

He gripped Eames’ hands and pulled them off, his headache making his own temper short. “ _Everyone_ , Eames. Even you.”

“Bullshit. I’ve kept my promise to be patient and have said not a word that would cause Arthur to—”

“He has confided in me.” At the King’s faltering, he nodded. “He has confided in me that he hears you, when you leave his room unsatisfied. You kindly kiss his forehead and make more polite promises  _and then you go outside his chambers, you roar_ , _you shift_ , _and you destroy whatever you get your claws into_. And I know very well your tantrums, so this surprises me not at all. Did you honestly think he wouldn't know the truth? Even I'm insulted on his behalf, Eames.”

“Oh shit,” he groaned, covering his face. "No, no, no."

“He is at the mercy of a doctor who may have ruined his entire future, and he has not one person here, save for me, who doesn’t make him want to...rush to the tower and throw himself from the window, which, I am most pained to add, is the exact reason why I was forced to bar him from the observatory. His only comfort and I had to take it from him to keep him safe in these testing times. But that was last month. How worse has his treatment grown since then?”

Eames couldn't look at Yusuf's accusatory glare. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re his mate, Eames. Mates can withhold no secrets from one another. You’ve just been blinded by your own needs—which is perfectly understandable, but this is why you must either take a mistress or stop visiting his bed, or else this wait will get even worse.”

“I can’t.”

“Eames.”

“ _I can’t_. I refuse. Now go away and let me work.” 

+

 

Arthur could only be grateful that when he woke up, his eyes weren’t swollen from crying.

He’d made a terrible blunder, for which he was most certain he would never be able to fix.

He’d lied. He’d allowed for the King to visit his bedchamber one night and had tried his best to pretend that he was ready. In truth, he still had no idea what was supposed to happen with his body. Even his attempts to draw out his sex with his own pleasuring hand when he was alone hadn’t worked. Surely, all it would take was just…forcing whatever had to happen so he could finally make his husband love him again.

He’d been wrong. And his poor husband… Eames’ mind was so clouded with repressed lust that he’d bought Arthur’s lie, long enough to try to enter him only to hurt him by accident. Arthur had never seen him so enraged, and knew that he would never witness it again, for if the new month arrived without mercy or salvation, he knew he would be celebrating the Solstice a head shorter and in a grave, his family would be riddled with shame.

It was stupid, lying, but… He just couldn’t allow for one more week to pass with the entire world so angry with him, and yet, all that had happened was that he’d turned his husband against him as well now.

He hadn't seen him in days. There was nothing he could do to make the King understand, so he feigned an illness and hid from the world for a week in the hopes that when he resurfaced, his husband would be able to look at him again.

He had no idea it would feel this cold and empty without the King’s sun shining upon him. He swore if he were ever forgiven, he’d never take his husband gaze for granted so long as he lived.

 

He sat at his table alone, his attendants all silent and equally sad. He stared at his breakfast with Sophie falling asleep in his lap. He willed the bowl of grapes to transform into anything else, like eggs, or meat, or even the cook’s bland porridge.

Arthur’s stomach couldn’t handle another grape, no matter the color. He cursed himself for ever mentioning the fruit to King Eames. He’d supposed Arthur’s heat lay in the grapes, and at first, upon hearing of this, every married woman in the court took to eating grapes as well, as if each one carried some magical secret of arousal or fertility inside. Eames had been most upset when Arthur declined a bowl at dinner after only the first week. Now his husband ordered him to eat a great bowl of them twice a day, every day, and he had, for weeks and weeks and weeks.

He plucked two of them from the stem and stuffed them into his mouth. He couldn’t swallow them.

Lady Catherine placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head and rubbed his shoulders as he buried his face in his hands.

 

Lord Yusuf encouraged Arthur to venture out. He wasn’t Queen, nor was he with the King’s child, but he still needed to perform his other duties as the King’s spouse. And it would take his mind off of fretting, or so Yusuf had promised.

He took three of his Engston ladies and one of the boys with him as he made his appearance. At least, in front of these attendants, who had family and friends at court as well, the nobles who passed them by didn’t outright mock or sneer at Arthur. But he could feel it, the stares, the accusations. The very same people who’d gifted him with houses and jewels and invitations to tea all glared at him with contempt.

They thought he’d fooled the King and his physician. Or that maybe the botched inspection had only been a ploy by both the House of Miles and the doctor – whom they must have surely bribed – to create a false womb and sway the King. It was clear King Miles had used his youngest son as a means to gain allegiance with King Eames, having the dowry waved as well by sending a son and not a daughter. Not that his father had ever been power-hungry or in debt, but reality never prevented these people from conjuring up new conspiracies.

He was relieved to find that Cardinal Stewart was in his office.

“Your Highness,” the man looked up from his desk with surprise, but curiously didn’t stand to receive him. “What a surprise this is.”

Arthur smiled brightly. “Your Eminence, I hope you are well.”

He smiled. “Out for a walk?”

“Yes, but… Actually, I came to see you specifically.”

“Is that so?” he said to his ledger. 

“Well… You are a very busy man, and I had hoped that you would have granted me audience before your last trip, but you were called to conference in my father’s country so quickly, I had missed you again.”

“So you came to see _me_ this time? Well, that was very thoughtful, but as you can see…I am still a very busy man.Now, if you'll excuse me—”

“Your Eminence,” one of the ladies whispered in surprise as they all stood behind Arthur in shock.

The Cardinal’s brow rose. Finally he stood, looking past Arthur to his attendants. “Leave us.”

Arthur nodded at them to go and watched them step out and close the door behind them. When he turned back, the Cardinal was standing in his personal space. Surprised, Arthur stepped back. “Your Eminence, I… Forgive me, but I don’t understand.”

“Let me tell you something, your Highness. I am not a person you wish to test. I am the link between god and our king. What I say, goes, and I am a stone’s throw away from gathering your husband and the privy council and requesting that this sham of a marriage be annulled.”

“But I—”

The Cardinal held up his hand. “Let me finish,” he gently chided. He tilted his head, condescending as he sighed. “You’re very young and pretty and I’m sure the King adored you during your courtship, but right now, you’re not even above a concubine, as a beta whore would at least be of some use to his Majesty, but you’re just…taking up space.”

Arthur stood numb and pale as the Cardinal placed his hands on his shoulders and guided him towards the door. When it was opened into the busy corridor, the Cardinal leaned in close to his ear. “Now you remember that the next time one of your wenches tries to reproach me. Good day, your Highness.”

He stood there for a moment as his attendants rushed to his side. The lady who’d spoken took his hand and urged him to walk. “I’m so sorry, your Highness. I didn’t mean to cause your more grief.”

He kept his head held high but his smile didn’t reach his tear-filled eyes. “It’s quite alright, my lady. I understand, and I thank you for your support.”

“Should we go to his Grace, Lord Yusuf, your Highness?” the boy asked. "You could tell him how the Cardinal treated you."

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” he answered graciously. He swallowed back his tears. “I’m tired. We’ll return to my chambers, so that you and others may have the rest of the day to yourselves.”

 

His remaining attendants were eerily silent when he returned. He appreciated the quiet as he headed straight for his bedroom, but after an hour passed without so much as a word, he knew something was wrong.

He stepped into the parlor again and looked around. Sophie pawed and whined at him, trying and failing to gain his attention. He eyed them all as they moved about and sat together pretending to read books, some of which were upside down. Lady Catherine was absent, which didn’t surprise Arthur as the older woman was permitted her time alone in the evenings to tend to her own affairs, but someone else wasn’t here.

“Where is Thomas?”

No one answered.

“Lady Rose, where is Thomas?” he repeated.

The lady curtsied low, as she cut her eye at one of the others nervously. “Forgive me, your Highness, I do not know. He…disappeared not long after you left.”

When understanding dawned on him, Arthur’s throat went dry. “Thank you, Madam,” he managed to say.

He turned, not caring whether anyone bowed at his exit or not. His bedroom door closed behind him. Arthur couldn’t make it to his bed, so he lay on the floor in his sobs.

 

Eames was attempting to rub the headache out of his forehead when he heard the soft click of his door open and close.

The boy hovered near the door as if expecting to be told to leave, but when the King didn’t look up from his work, he stepped forward. “Majesty,” he bowed, “forgive my intrusion. Your guards let me in.”

Eames stood, frowning. “Young Thomas, has something happened to Arthur?”

He shook his head, his blonde curls swinging about his shoulders. “No, your Majesty.”

“Then—” He stopped himself when the boy stepped out of his shoes and rolled his tights to the floor, stepping out of them as well.

Eames had to clear his throat when the boy’s belt clattered to the floor. “Thomas, what are you doing?” he asked quietly, gripping the edge of the table behind him.

“Pleasing his Majesty, of course. If his Majesty permits me.” He made a show of stripping out of his tunic, and left his chemise behind on his pile of clothes when he stepped forward.

Eames swallowed, his chest heaved, his blood a stream of volcanic fire.

Thomas let his hand cover the King’s and carefully loosed it from the table. “Majesty,” he breathed, “I…I’ve never offered my body to anyone before. No one has touched me.”

Eames let his hand be placed at the boy’s lips and then to his waist. He would burst from his codpiece if he let one more minute slip by. The beta couldn’t hope to compare to Arthur’s loveliness, but he had a body. A body that wasn't complicated and was willing and so very, very tempting.

Thomas smiled lewdly when the King’s hands gripped his waist firmly. “Take me, Majesty. Please? Use me for your pleasure.” He leaned forward to claim the King’s lips, but was startled when one of those firm hands gripped his throat.

Eames squeezed the slender neck in warning. “Tell me, Thomas,” his voice rasped. “Did my Arthur send you here to take care of me?” He could already picture himself fucking the boy over the table at his back, those long legs thrown over his arms, soft sighs and moans slipping from those thin lips as Eames roughly deflowered him and emptied within him the seed that had been building in his loins for so very long. His load would seem to never cease its flow but the boy would take it all. _Oh_ , if Arthur had sent him here, Eames would never say another cross word to him again. He would worship him always and forever as his god and treasure every breath he took and every bat of his lashes. Every desire, tame or bizarre, would be granted to him at once, if Arthur had mercifully given him this gift to tide him over.

Thomas smiled wider. “No, your Majesty, but I’m sure he’ll—”

“ _No_?” His brow rose.

Thomas’ face faltered as the King grip on his neck tighten. He shook his head, getting nervous.

“So you came here, of your own accord and your own mind, in secret?”

“Yes… Yes, Majesty.”

“And therefore intended to betray your master?”

His eyes grew wide. “Oh no, Sire, that was never my intention.”

“No?” He pushed the boy to the floor and roared in his anger. The two guards outside the door burst in, their spears and swords ready, but Eames stilled them with the raise of his hand.

Thomas rushed to his clothes, but Eames pulled him to his feet by his arm.

“You think me to be like other men, Thomas?”

“No, your Majesty," he whimpered. "Please—”

Eames held up his finger to the boy’s lips. “I want not to hear another word. You will return at once to your father in the country, and never ever, _ever_ , step foot in my court again. Do you understand?” At his quick nod, Eames pushed him to the guards. “Get him out of my sight.”

He turned and planted his hands on the table, hanging his head. Every muscle in his body hurt.

 

His door opened again, an hour later. This time, his guard announced his visitor as he was supposed to.

“Lady Catherine,” he tried to smile. “Has my banishing Arthur's boy upset you?”

She frowned. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, your Majesty.”

“Ah. Never mind then, but I am employing my cousin’s wife Ariadne to replace Thomas for Arthur’s household.”

Her brow rose as she eyed the King and caught the faint scent of Thomas in the air. “I see.”

Eames balled his hands into fist, trying to maintain control over his temper. “Do not make assumptions, Madam.”

“I wouldn’t dare, Majesty.”

“Why are you here?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but released a heavy sigh instead. “Will his Gracious Majesty permit me to speak freely?”

“I am busy, Madam. And have had enough of freely spoken words.”

“May I speak on Arthur's behalf then?”

He eyed her with suspicion. “What do you wish to tell me?”

She stepped forward with a kind smile. “Will his Majesty reconsider visiting his Highness tonight in his bedchamber?”

“No, Madam. That won’t be necessary.” He cut his eye at her, expecting her to protest his answer as everyone else always did to him these days, but she curtsied, accepting without argument.

“Then… Perhaps you might invite his Highness to your table for your evening meal?”

He sighed again, ready to refuse, only…he did miss the boy’s company. 

When he didn't answer, she tried for a different approach. “Majesty, if I may, Arthur is still so very new to the world, but he grows everyday. I see it. The little one who was always the most curious and quiet of all my charges is now transforming into a kind and respectable young man. The pressures mounted on his shoulders are high, after spending so much of his life as…well…as a forgotten child.”

He listened as she spoke sincerely and nodded. “That is true. Say, you were the one there for Arthur in the beginning, yes?”

“Indeed, Majesty.”

“I remember your words falling on deaf ears.”

“Some men are unable to tolerate a woman more knowledgeable than he in his affairs, Majesty, even if Arthur’s person is my affair too,” she said. “But, that is to be expected in this world.”

“Then… Tell me what you know about your affair.”

She smiled. “Stress, fear, anxiety, unhappiness… Those are the spirits that kill a soul long before the body dies, Majesty. Perhaps in an attempt to…admonish these evil spirits, the body rebels against its natural functions. It could be an ill stomach in times of fear, or an aching chest after a heartbreak, or even—”

“Or even a delayed heat,” he finished for her.

“Perhaps.”

He chewed it over and at last, he nodded. “Has to be. Nothing else has helped him or even revealed the smallest of clues.” He scratched his chin, thinking quickly. “I will do all in my power to mend things, and more importantly to relieve his fears.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” She bowed.

“And I shall also repay you for your long years of excellent service to Arthur.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary, Sire. I have all that I need in my duties. I enjoy caring for Arthur very much.”

“Very well. I must leave for a conference tomorrow and won’t be back until late next week before the Saints Day, but…when I return, have Arthur come dine with me.”

“I already count the hours until your return, your Majesty.”

 

The week passed. The King returned in the early morning before the Saint's Day and sent word to Lady Catherine of his invitation.

“Get up, your Highness,” Lady Catherine ordered upon entering his bedroom. She threw open the curtains and pulled back his sheets. “You must get dressed.”

He didn't feel well at all. A fever was coming on, like a bad omen, he sure of it. He turned to her with dread. “Why? Have they come to send me away?”

“No, no, no, Highness. The opposite. The King has returned from abroad and has invited you to—” She couldn’t finish her sentence. The ladies screamed in delight and dragged him from the bed at once, preparing a new set of clothes. 

+ 

 

Arthur promised himself that he wouldn’t be nervous or shy. It was inevitable. Sooner or later, he would have to learn to talk and what better time than here, now that his life surely depended on pleasing his husband in whatever way he could manage.

He would charm the King as he’d often done in the observatory. His husband enjoyed listening to him pretend to misspeak in his language. His grasp wasn’t perfect in truth, but when he made glaring mistakes, Eames always corrected his grammar and vocabulary with a fond smile.

He sat at the King’s table, giving him elaborate answers to every question he was asked, and made note to inquire about his husband's campaigns. All the while, he toyed a large fray into the hem of his tunic, releasing all his nervous energy out on the poor patch of fabric.

“You aren’t eating your grapes?”

Arthur eyed the bowl as if they would come alive and attack him. He glanced up at the King and back to the bowl. “No, Majesty.”

“You aren’t hungry?”

The table was covered with a large plate of the bloody boar the King enjoyed, as well as the soup he liked with bread, and other foods that he had never seen before, but none of that food was for him. “No, Sire.”

“Oh. Alright, then—” Arthur stomach growled, cutting him off.

Arthur just shook his head at the bowl in front of him, not bothering to look and see what the King’s expression would be. He gave up with a sigh and propped his forehead on his hand. “Sorry.”

“Darling!” Eames dropped his knife. “You,” he called over a servant, “take this away.” He shoved the bowl into the servant’s hands and pushed his plate towards Arthur. “Eat.”

Arthur didn’t need to be ordered. He didn’t even care about the blood this time. He ate the slab of boar as if he feared the King would change his mind and bring back the grapes.

“You’ve been terribly neglected,” Eames muttered. 

Arthur shook his head as he chewed. “I’ve been ungrateful.”

“Arthur, you aren’t a bird, or Sophie. Take more.” He watched Arthur suck down half the bread loaf. “I'm sorry. I really am. I promised you, before we were married, that we would be friends. But… I have been a terrible friend to you, if you can even call me that.”

He set down his knife and cleaned his hands. “No, it’s not your fault, husband. I should have never been dishonest with you.”

“You would have never lied had I not pushed you to it.” He took Arthur’s hands. “Whether your future is with child or without, I will and I must always love and care for you first.”

"But...I failed you. I failed everyone, even my family."

" _I failed you_. As your husband, I should have been defending and supporting you. But I promise, I will not fail you again." He shrugged at Arthur’s tears. “If it comes to it, I’ll shift and run out into the country and…steal someone else’s bloody baby. Hell, if I must—”

“Majesty, no!” Arthur laughed in spite of his tears, too tickled by the image of the King as a child thief.

“Don’t tell me no. You will have to join me on this mission anyways. I could not possibly handle a baby in my paws and run at the same time.”

“ _Majesty_ ,” he tried to chide, but the King held up his hand.

“All I’m saying is that, in the event that you are ever gifted with a saddle and not a horse, you will know perfectly well who and what that saddle is for.” He couldn't help but laugh too, now that he had Arthur in stitches.

 

Arthur was invited to meals with his husband every day afterwords. He was eternally grateful that each meal came and went with not one grape in sight. They would sit for as long as they could, even having the table cleared in favor of a game of cards, until Arthur stopped letting his husband win. The King turned to hating cards overnight and refused to say why.

And then it happened.

He was breaking off bread for his and the King’s plate when he felt it; the warmth that spread so suddenly through him it took him by surprise.

“Are you alright, my darling?” the King asked, still laughing from the conversation. “If my teasing’s too harsh, well…get over it.”

Arthur laughed, shaking his head as the warmth subsided. “You are awful to me, husband. Very cruel.”

Only the warmth didn’t totally disappear as is had in the past. Before, it had been like a sea monster peeking its head and few scales above the water and then vanishing as it swam, always at the same distance. Now, that creature swam fully on the surface of the water, swimming closer and closer to the shore.

He pushed back his hair and squirmed in his seat, no clue of how much he’d missed of the King’s new tale. Suddenly, a flash of pain made him gasp with surprise and then…the pleasure took hold of all of him and left him gripping his chair.

He didn’t know that his eyes had closed. When he opened them, his husband’s eyes were golden. He stared across the table at Arthur as if there was no man sitting in his chair, only wolf. Only hungry, starving wolf, locking his prey in his unwavering stare.

“Arthur.”

He shivered, hearing his name spoke in such a rumbling voice. “Husband?”

“Finish your supper,” he ordered quietly. “You must eat all that you can now.”

In his fog, he didn’t understand right away what the King meant. Fear settled into his stomach, at the thought of his husband losing control the way he had during his rut and taking him right here before the servants and attendants.

Eames watched him eat in silence. He was terrified to let go of his spoon when he was done, knowing what it would mean.

With careful movements, the King stood and addressed the servants. “That will be all tonight. Thank you.” He looked down at Arthur with a thin mask of calm. “Arthur?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” he breathed.

“Do you wish for me to join you in your bedchamber?”

Arthur’s mouth opened and closed several times as his mind tried to work over his rising temperature. He didn’t know he’d had a choice in the matter, only…now didn’t seem like a good time to start exercising his choices. He nodded. The King was out of the room with his attendants following close behind before Arthur could voice his consent.

He released the great breath he’d holding, but there was no time to sit here and relax. His attendants helped him to stand and rushed him to his rooms.

His knees went weak the second he entered his bedroom. Quickly he reassured his attendants that he was fine.

“Do you wish for us to stay with you, your Highness, when…” The lady swallowed.

Everyone fell silent as the King’s scent drifted into the room behind Arthur.

He turned just as a strange sensation tingled up his spine, making him gasp. The attendants, though scared of the King’s presence, bowed out and took Sophie with them, not waiting to be told to leave. The door clicked shut behind them.  

Seeing the King’s golden eyes sweep over his body as he, no doubt, caught his scent swirling in the air around them, Arthur could feel his pleasure blossom renewed as his hidden sex awakened and released something slick and sweetly scented from within him. When his husband touched his face and neck to kiss him, Arthur’s skin burned with a carnal fever.

“Husband—” He was cut off by the King’s deep kisses.

Eames nearly lost it when Arthur moaned into his mouth. He barely got them to the bed. Eames spared little time in tearing open Arthur’s tights and laying him down. When he parted his thighs, they were glistening.

Arthur’s heart quickened at Eames’ predatory glare. He pushed himself back further on the bed and moved the sheets aside as Eames freed himself from his hose and tights. His husband was on him at once, attacking his mouth. In spite of his fear, his body responded even more, his temperature rising. His belt was broken and his tunic in scraps when both landed on the floor.

There was no time for soft touches and whispered words this time. It hurt when Eames’ cock opened him. He cried out in pain even as his cock leaked on Eames’ tawny hair. Eames seemed to grow larger still as he thrust harder and deeper. Arthur clung to his husband’s back, tears stinging his eyes, holding in the sobs that soon turned to moans when his body began to adjust to Eames’ sex. It was like nothing he'd ever expected. Eames' cock inside him was overwhelming. His body hummed with every rock of his hips and his firm hands. Their scents bled together and drove them both wild. 

He tried to keep his eyes open to see his husband’s pleasure, but even the King’s eyes fell closed. He cursed and moaned above Arthur, shaking with the force to maintain control.

Eames was able to glance at Arthur for a moment before the sight overwhelmed him again. Arthur’s back was arched like a bow as Eames' thrusts pushed him further into the pillows, his head tossed back, curls tumbling about that lovely face, as Eames buried himself as deep as he could. So wet and tight, Eames grunting and growled at the mere thought of being crushed in such a body. Eames grabbed his face and kissed him until Arthur’s hips rocked against his, begging him to keep moving. But his knot was soon to swell already. He could feel his release building but he wasn’t ready even for this one time to end, in spite of knowing that he would take Arthur again as soon as he was able.

He pulled out slowly, heartbroken by Arthur’s soft wince. He’d been too hard and demanding in claiming his omegahead, and was certain he’d regret it the moment he was no longer fogged by Arthur’s intoxicating scent. Eames rumbled deep against Arthur's neck, settling him before he turned him on his side and settled in closely behind him.

“H-husband, why did you stop?”

He soothed him with kisses across his shoulders and nape. “Trust me, darling, I'm not abandoning you.”

Arthur looked truly feverish now when he tried to turn and see Eames’ face, but Eames wrapped his arms around him tightly, a hand between his slippery inner thighs to guide himself back into Arthur’s body. He felt about his omega sex, raking his wetted fingers over taut balls, his smooth, weeping cock, and through the thick, soft curls beneath his belly. He kept his hand close to stroke Arthur’s cock and to hold his hips still. He moaned into his mate’s soft hair, a strung arrow and bow himself now that the need to knot rose to new heights with every pant and sigh that passed Arthur’s lips.

“Arthur,” he gritted out, trying to stave off the inevitable for just a moment longer as he slowed to a pause, “Arthur, hold still now. Oh, god. This…this will be over soon, I promise.” His guilt tinged his arousal, knowing that his knot would surely hurt his omega more than anything in the past had. He was already too tight and had to be sore from Eames' rough handling. He held him tight, expecting Arthur to try to struggle away from the swelling bulge. To his immense surprise, the opposite happened.

"Oh _fuck_!" Arthur screamed and came hard around the knot, shouting out a stream of curses in his language, his only struggle the fight to keep himself from being any louder. He dug his nails into the backs of Eames’ hands and in the sheets in his effort to ride out his orgasm.

Was his knot always necessary in order to pull that kind of a release from his omega? Eames would have laughed at the surprise, but he was fighting his own battle now. Pouring his seed into Arthur’s constricting passage, he wanted to shift and bite him, to give him the truest mark of a werewolf alpha’s claim. This need rippled through his body so badly it hurt. He kissed along Arthur’s neck and nipped at his shoulder instead.

He heard Arthur’s heavy breaths and felt his chest heaving in his arms. It was enough to quell his inner beast. He squeezed him and closed his eyes just to focus on those two things. He wasn’t out of breath himself, and felt more alive than ever. He’d never bedded a human before, never knew that such small things as hearing Arthur catching his breath and feeling his heart beating so fast could make his love for the omega that much more severe. 

They lay together in the afternoon sunlight. Eames carefully moved enough to prop his head on his hand. He watched Arthur stare into the fireplace, his heartbeat leveled and steady, though his fever remained high.  

When his knot at long last released Arthur, Eames whispered into his damp curls. “Darling?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you… Are you well?”

Arthur was sure that if the King’s knot hadn't held him in place, he’d still have been unable to move. His field had just been plowed by a very enthusiastic farmer, but his smile was bright and his spirits high when Eames turned him to see his face. Laughter bubbled from his chest, his energy renewed as the King gazed at him with loving eyes. He was saved. Everything would be perfect now that his heat had at long last come and freed him from his chastity. “Yes, Sire.” He blinked, a little dazed by his fever and sore. "Or, rather, no. I'm not well at all."

Eames tilted his head at Arthur's funny expression, but his breath caught when he felt Arthur's hips rubbing against his. He chuckled, parting Arthur's thighs to lie between them again. "Then...what might your husband do to make you well, your Highness?" 

+


	9. Chapter 9

+

 

Arthur squinted as Lady Catherine opened the drapes to let in the late afternoon light. He stretched, yawning and heard one of his attendants clear their throat. 

He looked around and promptly grabbed the sheets from around his ankles and burrowed under them, his face and ears bright red. “I’m _so_ sorry, everyone.”

As much as his lists of attendants had seen him naked throughout his life, it was still embarrassing to wake up like this. He imagined he must have looked like a wanton tavern whore, and felt so crippling guilty that his ladies and boys had to tend to him while trying not to look at his bruising, or his come dried on his stomach, or the state of the sheets, or the heavy scent of his and the King’s sex clinging to everything in the room.

Lady Catherine held up her hands, her tone soft. “We perfectly understand, your Highness. You are an adult now and a married omega. Do not fault yourself for performing your most critical spousal duties." She couldn't help but stifle her own smile when he groaned miserably. "One cannot be expected to bring forth heirs without first putting in the work.” She felt about his forehead. “Your fever is still high.”

He nodded, rolling into a cool spot on his pillows and sheets. He began to doze again. “I’m starving.”

“Have coffee and pastries brought in,” he heard the lady whisper to one of the boys, "and send for his Majesty."

Arthur groaned louder and pulled the sheets over his head. “Can’t I just sleep in for a little while longer?”

“No, no, no.” She pulled back the covers and got him sitting up to put on his chemise. She made him walk in circles around the room to wake him up more and to assess his personal state. “You mustn’t repress your heat or delay copulation when your fever is so high. Your Highness tried that yesterday and it only made you unwell, remember?”

“When will it end?” he gritted, wincing a little as he made his way around the room. 

He was exhausted. Eames was too demanding always. Even when he tried to be tender. Worse, his husband's sexual drive had no end. He might as well have been the one in heat, because every day he fucked Arthur until Arthur couldn’t take anymore and still Eames wanted another round. Not that it didn’t feel mind-numbingly good when he made love to Arthur, but he also missed being able to just sleep at night.

He tried to sit on the edge of the bed, but Lady Catherine made him walk again. “I’m tired…and gross…and...so very hot...and...thirsty. I’m dying, Madam, and I need a bath.”

“Remember, we aren’t permitted to touch his Highness until your heat has ended. If his Majesty were to catch any of our scents near your body during your heat…” She trailed off, rather than say. “And in your weak state, it is unsafe to let you bathe alone. Your heat _will_ end, perhaps in a few more days.”

“ _Days_?” It had already been a week. He crawled back into bed with Sophie. “I won’t survive.”

“You’ll be quite alright, your Highness. Your heat would actually end at once if you were to conceive a child, so strive for that today when the King arrives.” 

 

King Eames had an important meeting with the privy council that morning that had held him for several hours. By the time he slipped into the room, Arthur’s fever had risen to its highest state.

He hated his heat and the constant wetness between his legs. No pleasure in the entire world could outweigh the things this fever made him do. He’d stripped out of his chemise again and had most of the sheets and pillows on the floor in spite of the winter’s chill. His words slurred, his grace gone, and the only thing his drunken mind could focus on was how he could acquire his alpha's knot again. His breath was labored as he lay on his stomach with his hands between his legs, trying to quiet his need, but it wasn’t enough. He groaned with the aching need for relief.

“Arthur?” he heard King Eames whisper as he was joined on the bed some time later.

He moaned in answer and pushed his hips back against his husband’s when he settled over him. The King scented his neck and kissed a line down his back. Eames’ hands scalded the flesh of his hips and thighs when they parted his legs. “Please…”

Arthur was so close to coming already. With Eames’ tongue slipping inside, it would only take a few seconds more. He groaned when two of the King’s fingers pushed into him just as he began to tumble through his quiet release.

He was boneless when his husband turned him onto his back.

“Feeling better?” Eames asked. He sat up and started to strip.

“Feeling worse…” His hand returned between his legs as he dozed again. "I need…more."

Eames kissed his lips softly, missing his taste and scent though he’d only been gone for a little while. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you.” It was a dream feeling Arthur stretch around his cock. Playing dirty, he hadn’t bothered to remove Arthur’s fingers first. Now he reveled in the sound of Arthur moaning at the top of his lungs as Eames drove in hard.

“Eames! You…awful devil!”

Eames laughed. "Yes, I very much enjoy hearing you call me that." He growled with mirth as Arthur let loose a string of filthy curses in his language.

He watched himself take Arthur, his hands roaming freely when they weren’t holding his hips. So far, he’d learned that Arthur enjoyed being touched, so Eames touched him everywhere. His hands swept from his lips and neck down to harden his nipples and tickle his ribs and stomach with rough fingertips, and to press possessive marks along his hipbones and lower back.

Even as tired as he was, Arthur’s body still sung his husband’s praises. His hips lifted to meet Eames’ when his quick strokes didn’t go deep enough, his thighs locked around his waist. When Eames turned Arthur back on his stomach, his spine arched and knees spread wide to entice his husband’s knot to swell.

 

Eames watched Arthur drift blissfully as his knot held them together. He petted his shoulders, back, and let his hand rest over his flat stomach when he rolled them on their side. He squeezed Arthur tight and hummed contently.

When the last embers of Arthur’s climax burned out, he yawned into his pillow, “Have I conceived yet?”

Eames’ face lit up in a brilliant smile. He hugged him tightly again. “No, but…it warms my heart, hotter than the sun, to know that you wish for our child too. Soon, my darling. Soon, we will have our pack of little ones.”

Arthur felt Eames begin to move his hips again as soon as the knot went away. His face and neck were littered with kisses as his pace quickened. Arthur’s fever rose higher once more, as he was taken with gentle strokes and more soft kisses. His body beckoned the King for relief.

It wasn’t that Arthur wanted a child, he just wanted to sleep.

+

 

Most days, Eames didn’t like to be a bully.

However, he did enjoy the silences that spread through every hall and corridor as his heavy booted footfalls echoed off the stone floors.

The werewolves at court knew to hold their tongues, but a few of the humans still seemed to forget. The werewolves knew he could hear every word whispered from the humans that gossiped.

“I heard rumor that King Eames broke his lance twelve times on the first night of the Prince’s heat.”

“ _Twelve times_? How on earth does someone…that much in one night? My god, it must be true then, that the Milecomté boy actually came from a brothel, if the King broke his lance that many times in one night.”

“I’m only surprised the Prince didn’t drown in it all.”

“Hush, you two, the King is coming.”

Eames snarled at the crowd at large, sending several people scurrying out into the courtyard. He smirked as he continued his walk with his attendants, certain that no one would speak of his mate that way again. Who would dare?

 

Eames knew the moment he stepped into the room that he was going to get bad news. Only the Cardinal and Lord Yusuf’s confidence were maintained; all the other lords and dukes shuffled into their seats like punished children.

“So,” he began, “I know it foolish to hope for good news, but thankfully my omega has given me enough spirit to remain content, at least for two articles of bad news.”

“Majesty,” the Duke of Stoneborough warned, patting the sweat from his large brow with his handkerchief, “there are no less than _five_ articles of bad news that must be reported.”

“Then figure out a way to condense them, your Grace.” Eames clasped his hands and made himself comfortable, waiting for his day to be ruined.

Yusuf sighed and began to arrange each document in front of the King as the others sat silently panicking.

“King Dominic has reclaimed another territory,” Yusuf explained first.

“Which one?”

“Hüstablen and its adjoining bridge.”

Eames’ claws dug gorges into the arms of his chair. “Which means that it will be _two_ reclaimed territories by the end of the week the moment the bridge is restored."

"That was the second article of news."

He glanced to the heavens, wishing for nothing more than to return to Arthur's bed. "Of course. And?”

“The outbreak of the flux was allowed to cross into the Eameston borders.”

Eames growled. “Lord Thompson was supposed to take care of that." He glared at the old man.

"Forgive me, Majesty," the Governor stuttered, "I did not fully anticipate its speed and ability to spread."

" _No_ , but you were supposed to keep your people contained and closed off until the sickness quieted. Apparently, you did not." He pinched the bridge of his nose when the man failed to offer another excuse. He looked back at Yusuf. "Has my—”

“Your family has been recollected safely into Wolfshire, yes. Provided that they are still healthy, they will be brought here to Engston—”

“But not to court.” He pointed his finger at Yusuf, ready to order him to send his family back if this were the case.

“Precisely, Sire. They shall be placed in your finest border castle, instead of within the palace.”

"No, not the finest castle. Maybe the second finest."

Yusuf fought hard to hide his amusement. He nodded. "Will do, Majesty."

“Good.” He relaxed, though only a thin margin. “Continue.”

"Prince Arthur's coronation still needs to be voted upon by Parliament."

"It will wait."

"Your Majesty also needs to perform the final mating ritual as well," the young Earl of Green said.

That was the last thing he wanted to think about. "I'm aware. Next?" 

“In order to rebuild your army, taxes must be raised in all areas of the state.”

“Obviously,” he nodded without thought.

“But, your Majesty,” the highly decorated Duke of Roe, leaned forward, “surely not _all_ areas.” He placed a protective hand over his elaborate necklace.

Eames blinked. “Did you mishear me, your Grace? And might I remind you that you, and every other soul in this realm, has men like your brother to thank for the new taxes to your home.”

“Majesty, I beseech you—”

“Beseech your kin. I’m sure the disgraced general will be all ears to your suffering.” He motioned for a servant to bring him wine. “What is the next article of news?”

No one spoke. Eames cut his eye at Yusuf, not bothering to acknowledge to the others. “I said, continue, your Grace.”

Yusuf sighed and handed Eames the largest document. “There are hard rumors that King Dominic will also secure an alliance with King Miles within the next five or six months.”

Eames stared into his wine, willing himself not to crumble the cup when he sat in on the table. “How?”

“Queen Mallorie is with child. If the child is an alpha, then…” He didn’t need to finish.

Eames rose from his chair and waved for the others to remain seated as he paced slowly. “If I’m not mistaken, that alliance was meant to be ours, partly in exchange for waiving a dowry for the Prince. How could some weak human alpha entice that old man when I shall and will have guaranteed alphas—strong, invincible werewolf alphas—every time my omega’s belly grows full with child?”

The Cardinal spoke up for the first time. “The stipulation was for whoever’s heir that was produced first. It seems King Miles pines for grandchildren, in his old age, and will take whatever he can get. And seeing as how Queen Mallorie is months along while Prince Arthur has yet to conceive…”

Eames was hardly listening. He stopped pacing to touch the little amulet on his necklace and vial of the potion that Mallorie had had tailor-made for his werewolf ruts. He shook his head. “Just as easily as princesses are transformed into queens, so do loyalties shift, from brother to husband, and friend…to enemy.” He pulled the thin gold necklace until the clasp gave way. He cast the potion into the fireplace and watched it burn bright purple. “Inform her Majesty, Queen Mallorie, that her place here in my court has been forever revoked. If I ever get to see her again, I hope she be in mourning clothes over the death of her precious husband with the key to his kingdom tied around her neck.”

“What of the Prince?” Yusuf asked, his eyes on his ledger.

“His sister’s alliance is with her husband," Eames explained. "Arthur's alliance is with me.”

Yusuf refrained from voicing his opinion and instead asked, “New military leaders must be appointed to replace the former generals, Sire.”

Eames turned from the window. “Indeed. I leave that task in the hands of Cardinal Stewart.”

“With honor, your Majesty,” the Cardinal smiled.

“Majesty,” the Duke of Roe tried again, “I stand firm that our loses are due in large part to mistakes made by the foot soldiers. If you would have my brother reinstated, he could regain his honor by grooming your new men.

“ _No_.” He leveled the man with a glare. “This time, I shall train them all myself, to avoid any more ‘mistakes’, dear Grace.”

+

 

The sun had not yet risen. Arthur rolled over and shivered hard enough to wake him fully.

He bolted upright with a gasp and laughed merrily.

He was freezing.

His heat was over.

“Oh sweet blessed Mother,” he prayed, “thank you. Thank you for your gracious mercy.”

He climbed to the end of the bed to retrieve the fallen quilts and extra sheets, bundling himself in them like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

“Today, we will eat, bathe, and—No, bathe first, and—Well maybe…do them both at once!” The possibilities were endless. He had no idea when his next heat would come, but in the meantime, he would enjoy the return of his sexless life, where he and his husband could spend their nights watching the stars instead of sweating on each other.

He was still smiling as he drifted back to sleep.

 

Arthur stared at Lady Catherine, unblinking. He waited for her to declare her statement a joke, but no declaration came. She stared back at him, waiting for his response.

“So…” he began slowly, processing each word, “even though my heat has ended, I may still conceive a child?”

“Yes, your Highness. Heats only…draw out an omega’s true sex, and then afterwards, they only inspire an omega and his mate to spend more time together if no child was conceive in the months that proceeded.”

“And, because I can still conceive…that means that…I still have to have sex?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Oh. Okay.” He played with his food.

“Is something wrong, your Highness? Has he been unkind to you?”

“No, no. It’s just…” He hesitated on whether he could voice his feelings. “We just…never did anything else but… _that_ when my heat was here. Now that it is gone, I figured that we could…” He shrugged. “I want things to be like they once were. I miss the times when we used to laugh together, or when he would hold my hand under the table—Not romantically, he only held my hand because he thought I cheated at cards.” He smiled. “But it was nice.”

“Your Highness is too young for nostalgia,” she responded gently. “Think of your future, Arthur. When you are with child, the whole realm will will love you, and his Majesty—”

“Will forget that I exist the second the child is in his hands.” He propped his chin on his hand and pushed away his food. “Has Lord Yusuf permitted me to go to my observatory yet? And where is Sophie? I have been neglecting her.”

+

 

Arthur sat in the parlor that evening reading with his attendants. Or rather, pretending to read.

Yesterday, at this same time, he’d been enveloped in the arms of King Eames. He sat watching the fire burn in the hearth, wondering what his mate was doing, or how his day had been. Arthur’s heat was over, which is his mind, he’d expected the ability to walk farther than his bedroom without a fever would make his husband want to spend time with him, maybe want to have dinner with him, or join him on his walk through the gardens, or even to have the first chance to tease Arthur about how embarrassingly loud he was during sex. The day had passed, and still, here Arthur remained, bored and alone.

Even visiting the observatory hadn’t been the same without the King there with him.

He hadn't realized that he'd grown so attached to the King's company, until it was gone.

Maybe it was for the best. After all, the past two weeks of his heat had meant that time spent with his husband boiled down to sex and nothing else. He was sore and falling asleep into his book, so…maybe time alone wasn’t so bad. 

Arthur was happy to retire early that night.

His bed was cold, so he sat near the fireplace, on the rug beside Sophie’s little bed, petting her to sleep. Every now and then when he’d stop, she would crack open an eye at him.

He chuckled fondly. “You have to stop pretending, or else neither of us will sleep tonight.” He watched her get up and shake her fur before trotting to the bed. She pawed at the wood and looked back at him. “Sophie, no. Come here.” He crawled over to retrieve her and put her back in the basket. “I’ve spoiled you. You’re no good at all.” He covered her face in kisses. “You have to stay put here. I promise I will hold you tomorrow. Now _sleep_.”

He laughed when she growled at her bed. He sighed. “Very well. Because you are a brat and because this floor is too hard for me to sit on all night. Mal would be very unhappy with both of us.”

His door opened. He stood up and frowned. “What is this?”

Eames smiled as he neared to kiss him. “I missed you all day, my darling. You look surprised.”

“I thought you'd forgotten about me, Majesty," he muttered sheepishly.

"Really? Never."

Arthur smiled as well. "Well, it is very sweet that you stopped by to say goodnight.”

“Oh no, darling, I’m staying.” He took Sophie by her scruff and handed her to Arthur's lady, who bowed and followed the King’s attendants out of the room.

His face fell. “But… Husband, aren’t you sleepy? It's awfully late.”

“Believe me, I am _exhausted_ ,” he groaned, pulling off his nightgown. He stretched lazily and pulled Arthur into his arms.

Arthur let him kiss his neck and shoulder. “I had thought that maybe tonight...you would not want to…” He couldn't finish. Even after all they'd done, he blushed terribly at the thought of sex. 

Eames blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Arthur blinked back. “My heat is over.”

“Yes, thank god!" he teased. "I swear I lost a stone and a half tumbling around on this bed with you.”

“So…you wish to lay with me again? Now?”

Eames was beyond confused. “Yes. Why?”

Arthur grimaced. “Perhaps tomorrow instead?”

Eames’ brow shot up. “Why can’t I sleep with you now?” He frowned and crossed his arms. “Your heat's been gone for hardly a full day and already you tire of me? Do you not want me here?”

What could he say when he’d already said too much of the wrong thing? “Majesty, I’m sorry—”

“You would have me leave?”

“No, no. Of course not.” He just wasn’t looking forward to staying up all night when he was already half dead to the world, but the last thing he wanted was to make his husband angry.

“Good,” Eames groaned. “Come along then, my darling.” He took Arthur’s hand and led him to the bed.

Arthur watched him get comfortable under the covers before following him in.

Eames tilted his head when Arthur just sat beside him. He propped himself up on his elbow. “What is it, darling? Did you want to talk first?”

His brow furrowed, but he shook his head and lied down on his back, ready for his husband to mount him. Instead, the King yawned and turned Arthur on his side so he could snuggle in close. He felt a large hand move under the sheets, slipping under his nightgown. Arthur tried to relax so Eames could get him wet quickly. But Eames’ arm circled his waist and stayed there as he stretched and yawned again.

“Good night, my darling.”

Arthur remained still, waiting, but as the minutes passed by, he could feel his husband’s breathing change against the back of his hair. Confused now himself, Arthur turned and lightly elbowed his husband’s chest.

Eames woke with a start. “What? 'm sorry, Arthur. What were you saying?”

“You… You fell asleep.”

He snuggled in closer. “Mhm.”

After searching his mind for a reason and coming up empty, Arthur simply gave up and asked, “Why?”

Eames cracked open an eye and glared. “What, I’m only allowed to be in your bed if we’re coupling? I already know that, but I didn’t expect you to be this hostile about it—"

"No, I only thought that you—"

"—either way, I don't give a damn." He shrugged. "As your husband, I have a right to sleep with you whenever I wish. Surely having me here to warm your bed and sleep on your back isn’t all bad, is it?” 

Arthur didn't realize that he was covering Eames' hand under the blankets. “But you did not want to do other things?” His hold tightened.

Eames grinned, dozing again. “Believe me, there’s never a time that I don’t want to be inside you, Arthur. Even with your heat gone, you're still so very, very tempting. As soon as I can manage to keep my eyes open, I just might take you, but for tonight, I just want to hold you and sleep. It won't hurt, I promise.”

“Oh.” The feeling he’d had the night he’d eavesdropped on Lord Yusuf and the King’s talk of the wedding returned with total force. “I see.”

Eames groaned and turned with Arthur still in his arms. “I am a poor man starved of my omega’s warmth and his lovely brown eyes, and beg you, my god, to—” he yawned and didn’t finish.

Arthur lay over him as if the King were a human-sized pillow. Eames smiled in his sleep when Arthur moved to lie fully on top of him. His chest rose and fell like steady waves on an ocean. Arthur watched in amazement as his husband transformed from the peacefully slumbering giant of fables into a snoring beast. He figured that during his heat, he must have always been so exhausted after their coupling that he’d never noticed how loud and aggressively Eames snored.

He tried to keep quiet as he laughed into his husband's neck when the snoring changed from scary to bizarre.

Something struck him then. Arthur couldn’t place a happier time than this moment in all his life. Watching his husband sleep, he felt at peace for the first time since he'd arrived in the country. He smiled to himself as he traced Eames’ stubble and lips and cheekbones, and across the downy hair on his chest. Here lay the werewolf King of Engston, in _his_ bed, demanding _his_ attention, for the sole reason that he missed him. He'd _missed_ Arthur. It made him feel silly. But it hurt to think of the morning, when he would awake and the King would be gone to his duties.

So, Arthur stayed awake for as long as he could, trying to analyze and make sense of all he felt. Content, safe, loved.

In love, perhaps?

What had Mal’s advice been? That he would know when it happened. She’d been talking about Robert at the time, but she was right. The way Arthur’s spirits rose upon seeing a new letter from his cousin paled in comparison to how he felt when his lips touched Eames’, or when the King stepped into the secret garden and smiled his brightest seeing Arthur there with his ledger and books. Even now, when Arthur moved up his body enough to plant a soft kiss to his lips, it hurt, like the first sighs on his heat had hurt, as if his heart had been snagged by invisible hooks from Eames’ chest that tugged painfully whenever he moved too far away.

He kissed Eames again and laughed when the King muttered and turned them in his sleep, now enveloping Arthur in all his warmth. Arthur rubbed his back and studied the dark markings on his husband’s arm, trying to fight his own sleep and losing.

 

Arthur was roused accidentally when Eames moved.

“Sorry,” Eames whispered, guilty. “I’m usually not so clumsy.”

Arthur stretched and yawned wide. “You’re leaving? But it’s hardly dawn.”

“I must go to prepare for a long day full of meetings.” Eames looked exhausted still, but he willed himself to sit up.

Arthur caught his arm in a sleepy grip. “Just another hour?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You blow cold and then hot within a night?” He smirked. “Ah, but I’m taking my comfort and body’s warmth with me and leave behind a cooling, empty space. I see why you would have me stay now. Remember that the next time you speak to send me away, my Prince.”

Arthur frowned, embarrassed. “Eames, please?”

He leaned over to kiss his face. “Arthur, darling, I’m sorry but I cannot stay.”

“But must you really go this early? We were barely able to speak last night.”

“As much as I love conversation with you, I have to leave,” he yawned and moved to stand.

Arthur sat up, his heart meaning to chase after its master. “Well, if not for conversation then…perhaps another attempt at a child?” He blushed when that offer caught his husband’s attention. “Or…practice?”

Eames smiled. “Knotting you will take time, and even more for the knot to subside, which will make me even later for my meeting. Now, stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes, you are. And now you’re glaring…and now you’re smirking, which… Arthur, what are you planning? And why are you lifting…your gown?”

“I’m not sure.” Arthur lowered his eyes, blushing and still holding the hem of his nightgown to his chest.

Eames couldn’t take his eyes off of Arthur’s bared body. He groaned. Arthur's soft skin still held some of the little bruises from Eames’ rough play. “Perhaps you may be feeling some residual…affection…after your heat? Or perhaps,” he teased, settling between Arthur’s legs without another thought, “I’m just that damned good at bedding you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That sounds true.”

Eames’ face faltered as he looked at his mate with suspicion. “ _Really_?”

"Yeah." Arthur nodded, smiling. “It wasn't all just my heat, save for those days when I could not so much as remember my name from fever. When I was feeling more like myself, I enjoyed…your attentions.”

Eames puffed up his chest, proud. “It felt good, did it?” He already knew, but he couldn’t help but stroke his ego.

“When I was not so overwhelmed?” He nodded again, laughing at Eames’ expression.

“And you wish to feel good again, yes?” His eyes were golden as he kissed his way around Arthur’s stomach.

“I wish for you to stay a while longer. However, I do wonder, will I feel the same as I did in heat? My sex doesn’t appear to be so lively anymore.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows to see Eames better, more curious to see what his husband would do rather than from lust, until Eames’ stubble tickled over his thigh. He gasped, seeing his cock disappear into Eames’ mouth. He tried to keep his eyes open. He thought it lewd to watch the King’s head bob up and down, but he couldn’t stop watching, and wondered what it would be like to perform this same skill on his husband.

But then, Eames’ mouth drifted lower, drawing out a now familiar ache and pleasure. Arthur collapsed onto the bed, a long, deep moan passing his lips, his eyes on the carvings of the canopy as Eames’ tongue did wicked things. Eames held apart his thighs with one hand and with the other rose to seek out his soft down, his cock, and his sensitive navel, then reached for Arthur’s hand.

He blushed terribly and moaned louder, already desperate, when Eames guided him to stroke his cock, bringing him on the edge of release. His back arched as Eames toyed his nipples.

Arthur was speechless when Eames pulled away. His wetness made the King’s lips and early morning beard glisten. “ _Majesty_ ,” he breathed, his cock leaking on his stomach at the sight.

With a triumphant grin, Eames rubbed his face on the sheets and climbed up Arthur’s body with a devil’s mirth. He latched onto Arthur’s nipples until his omega bit his lip to stop from begging.

Eames’ tongue slipped into Arthur’s reddened mouth, ready to catch his gasp when his cock pushed inside him. He moaned, feeling Arthur’s release around his torturously slow thrusts. “I’m going to miss my entire meeting because of you,” he teased, slowing down the pace even more. “And possibly breakfast.”

“Forgive me, Sire,” he moaned behind his hand.

Eames grabbed his wrists and held him down. “No forgiveness. I’m going to punish you for distracting me so.” But he paused, his hips stilled. Just looking at Arthur’s face and seeing him in raptures, Eames forgot his plan. Arthur opened his dazed eyes, his brow creasing faintly before finding himself as lost in Eames' eyes as Eames was lost in his. Eames released his wrists to hold his face with careful hands, brushing aside his wild curls and rubbing his cheeks, his lips. “Arthur, I…”

Arthur’s heart hurt again. He rested his hands on Eames’ shoulders. He rocked his hips as much as he could under Eames’ weight and leaned up to touch his lips to Eames', silently begging for more of his kisses.

Eames resumed his lazy strokes, Arthur's hips meeting him halfway every time. Their hearts beat together, their breaths shared, eyes never leaving each other, until Eames couldn't hold back any longer. He held Arthur through his release as he tumbled after him.

Sunrise painted the dark sky in whispers of pastels. Eames kissed Arthur through his trembling and erratic heart.

“I never asked you before about these,” Arthur whispered, letting his fingertips trace over the markings on Eames’ shoulder and arm.

Eames ducked his head in Arthur’s neck. He squeezed him in his arms as if fearing he’d run or disappear. “You've never heard whisper of my family’s history?”

“Yes, but… These are neither burns nor birthmark,” he mused, circling the spirals on his husband’s bicep. “Right?”

“It is my birthmark, my blood. We Eameses all carry these markings. The witch’s branding,” he explained softly as he was held. “You see, my family wasn’t always so powerful. My great-great grandparents, Edward and Lilith Eames and their children were humans, serfs, working for a tyrant. Lord Jonathan Fischer, ancestor to Maurice and his son Robert, was made of the Devil himself. He and his sons ruled with beatings, starvation, rape, and any other barbaric means of torture they could come up with. They even turned their dogs on Lilith when she was with child in the fields once, it’s been told, because she refused to be Lord Fischer’s whore. However, they were not the Eames clan’s greatest threat.”

“The witch?”

“Yes, who was Jonathan Fischer’s wife, and her lover the werewolf Ruben the Third. Their terror killed three of Edward’s sons, but it was the death of his only daughter that pushed him to his edge. At dawn, he attempted revenge and lost.”

“He was killed?”

“No, he was bitten. They all were, except for Lilith, who was later bitten by Edward on the first full moon of their turning. The Fischer tyrant had no inkling of his wife’s power or her attack on his serfs. It is said that he and his sons actually laughed when the Eames clan descended from their homes with not a weapon in hand. Only one of the Fischer sons managed to escape the revolt and fled to the neighboring castle.”

“That castle was in Engston?”

“Yes. Engston had very little power or land back then.”

“And your family established Eameston, then. Where?”

“On the land of our former master." He smiled. "You see, the witch was overjoyed at seeing her husband and sons fall, even if temporary thinking all their wealth was now hers, but little did she know that while planning the overthrow, Edward and his sons had also been gathering their strengths, using their curse to the fullest advantage. They destroyed her and her werewolf, but not before she was able to brand Edward’s sons with a final curse, these markings the only physical proof of such. When the sons had children of their own, they were born with it just as they were born with werewolf blood.

“No one save or our family knew what the curse was until some time passed. Factions formed, brothers and their sons fought to overthrow one another as power grew and the Fischers rose up again. Two remained in Eameston, the other three formed Wolfshire at its border. Pitted against each other, they would shift on the full moons and rampage through their brother’s lands. One night, my grandfather and his uncle fought viciously over the rights to Wolfshire. It was the first of its kind, not man fighting man, but beast against beast, each dripping with the blood of the other. My grandfather got his teeth around his uncle’s neck and wouldn’t let go until the other submitted.”

“Were they both alphas?” Arthur asked in amazement, deep in Eames’ tale.

“They were, but by the end of the night, one had changed. When my grandfather’s uncle relented and gave up through his submission, the curse claimed its first victim. He could not, even until the end of his days, shift back into his human form. By losing, he gave up his right to be a man.”

Arthur gasped, shaking his head. “Impossible. No.”

Eames toyed with one of Arthur’s longer curls, his brow furrowed as he navigated through his thoughts. “Not impossible,” he whispered. “When we fight, we fight for more than power and dominance. Through our curse, we must also fight for our right to be more than just a beast.”

“But…then…” His own brow rose as he studied Eames’ face. “That is how you’ve come to lead over all your family?”

“Only those who have challenged and lost.”

“Like?”

“My brothers.” He smiled bitterly. “As my father did all but one of his brothers, and his sister,” he explained. “I suppose, with a less volatile clan, the thought of losing your blood forever in a curse would make one think twice about letting anger and competition get the better of us, but we would not be alphas without it. Sometimes, I look at my brothers and miss the old days. Sometimes being near them is too much, so I send them into the forest after a boar or deer to keep them out of my sight. The people of Engston certainly think my brothers are my pets.”

“The two wolves in your pack?” He paled. “Eames…”

The guard knocked on the door, drawing their attention. Eames sighed, feeling heavy when he kissed Arthur’s forehead and dislodge himself from the tangle of Arthur’s legs, his cock soft when it slipped free.

“Eames, maybe just another minute?”

Eames’ smile was fond when he glanced back. Arthur rose as well and placed his furs over Eames’ shoulders as he tied his robe.

He wanted to say ten million things to his husband, but had no idea where to start. He hadn’t been prepared for the King’s revelation, and now that he had to leave, he wished to follow him.

Eames kissed his forehead and hugged him tightly. “Back to bed with you. Get some rest.” When Arthur bit his lip and lowered his eyes, his smile was sad. “You needn’t ask, my darling. I shall be back as soon as I can. And I will be thinking of you all the while that I’m away.” He pressed his hand over Arthur’s stomach when he kissed his cheek.

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed when Eames left. He was tired, but try as he might, he couldn’t get comfortable anymore. The bed was simply too big for just one little person. One embarrassingly lonely, pining little person.

+

 

“Your Highness.” Lord Yusuf smiled at Arthur. “What a pleasant surprise this is. Are you well?”

“I am, your Grace, thank you. Might we walk together for a little while?”

“For you, anything. I had been hoping I could speak with you, actually, although, forgive me if I offend but, I did not wish to interrupt your…” he waved his hands, searching.

Arthur blushed and nodded. “I understand fully.”

“Good, good. As you know, the Winter Solstice festival is almost upon us, and while his Majesty has enjoyed planning the event all these past years, it is impossible for him to find the time anymore.”

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about as well. I… I’ve been taught not to interfere in my husband’s matters, but…it’s been a while since he and I…were…together, which for me, if I may admit this to you, is worrying.”

“Ah, I see. You must forgive his Majesty. As much as I know he wishes to spend every waking hour with you, the campaign against King Dominic has consumed all of his attention this past week, and I fear it shall be this way for a while yet.”

“Oh, I understand.” He frowned.

“Worry not, Highness,” Yusuf assured him. “If he neglects you, it is not from malice or indifference to your needs.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, his cheeks and ears pink at the Lord Chancellor’s meaning.

“But you know, if you help me with my request, I may be able to persuade the King to take a break or two once the holiday has passed, so that you and he may have your time together again.” At Arthur’s earnest nod, he explained, “It would give the King’s heart a great boost if you would take over preparations for the festival.”

“Of course. I’d be honored.”

“Really? Excellent, that’s perfect. I shall inform Cardinal Stewart so that you two may began at once.”

Arthur stopped walking. “Cardinal Stewart?”

“Yes. He is in charge of all expenses for religious and festive events. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to work with you.”

Arthur couldn’t get his brow to relax or his fist to unclench at his sides. Of all the people in the world… “I’m sure.” He smiled with Yusuf, though his did not reach his eyes the way Yusuf’s did. “I also wanted to ask your favor about something? I have a plan for an observatory for the people in the city. It would be a place where the undereducated could have an opportunity to share in the explorations of the skies.”

It was Yusuf’s turn to stop now. He turned fully to Arthur with a serious face. “Highness, that sounds extraordinary. As your first act as the future Queen, this could bring you favor for centuries to come, to create such a magnificent institution for the common people.”

“Thank you, your Grace. Will you help me with the proposal?”

“I’d be delighted, and know that once you’ve helped Cardinal Stewart with the festival, he too will gladly sign on for this construction as soon as Spring.”

“Cardinal Stewart is in charge of such matters as well?” His heart withered when Yusuf nodded.

“He’s old fashioned and not entirely enthusiastic about the sciences, _but_ , I think you’ll charm him into it easily.”

Arthur dug half moons into his palms and imaged for a moment the joy of scratching out the Cardinal’s eyes. He forced another smiled. “I’m sure you’re right, my Lord. Absolutely.”

"Shall I walk you and your ladies to his office?"

"No, no. That won't be necessary. I actually have a fitting I must be present for in half an hour."

Yusuf beamed. "Something special to wear for the festival? Well, if you can, be sure to model it for his Majesty when it's completed. The war is taxing his very soul, Highness, but if there's one thing that would renew his spirits, seeing you in a pretty new garment is definitely it."

He was able to honestly return the Lord Chancellor's smile this time. The man wasn't entirely wrong, although Arthur could think of one much better way of lifting King Eames' spirits. And if he was going to have to spend more than a passing second in the Cardinal's company for the next week and a half, he would need to fortify his own spirits as well.

+ 

 

“I knew it,” the King boasted, glancing up from his papers that night in his bedroom. “That shade of blue is most exquisite on you, my darling.”

Arthur looked down at himself, happy too, to be in the colors of the King’s household. “Thank you, Majesty. The seamstresses spent countless hours perfecting every detail of it, for you.”

“Excellent. You shall be the diamond of the Winter Solstice ball. All will be heartbroken and envious. I shall increase your seamstresses' wages for their job well-done.” With a fond smile, Eames returned his attention to his work.

Arthur stepped forward. “Majesty…Husband? Will you spare a moment of your time for me?”

“If only I could, my precious Arthur. A king’s work is never done, unfortunately. Just this morning, I had an idea for a proposal to give to Parliament in a few days that would make it possible to expedite your title change from simple Prince to Queen, which has only increased my list of tasks.” He was startled to turn and see that Arthur was standing beside him now, his hair tumbling over his shoulders, the string on his chemise tied loosely under his wide-necked tunic. He smelled wonderful.

Eames let his hand drift to Arthur’s thigh, petting the soft fabric of his tights. He drew him to stand between his legs, willing to indulge just a little. “What is it, darling? Tell me.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Oh darling, I’ve missed you too. Please, stay and sit with me for a while?”

Arthur beamed. “Certainly. But first, I was wondering…" He steeled himself by glancing down at Eames' knee and then to the ceiling. "I was wondering if…” Arthur toyed with the collar of Eames’ jacket.

“ _If_ …?” the King prompted, soaking in the sight of the omega’s legs and how the belt he wore showed off his lithe waist. He had to fight the urge to let his hand go up any higher under Arthur’s tunic. He held back a lustful groan by distracting himself with a sip of his wine.

Arthur ran his hands down his own tunic nervously, watching Eames under his lashes. “Well, you told me to always be vocal with my wants and needs, and I…" He swallowed. "Will you…will you ride me, my Husband? That’s what I want.”

Eames choked on his wine, staining the front of his shirt. “P-pardon? Arthur, my god!”

He held his hands up, blushing terribly. “Forgive me, I… I don’t mean to be so vulgar, and I don’t wish to bother your work, and I have tried to quell my need alone several times these past nights, but…” He shook his head. His brow furrowed in mute frustration and unsatisfied desire.

Eames managed to gather his wits after a long time staring.

Arthur blinked and just as quickly found himself in the Eames' arms being tossed to the King's bed. He landed in the sea of pillows, his husband not far behind, nestling between his legs. Arthur laughed as his new tunic and stockings were torn to bits and discarded at the end of the bed.

Eames pressed his hips to Arthur’s, his heavy length swelling in his codpiece as he bit Arthur’s neck possessively. “Tell me of these efforts, my love. Tell me in detail, so that I might understand your plight most thoroughly.”

“The pleasures of my own flesh elude me, your Majesty," he panted. "I couldn’t find the spot that you always touch when you...”

“Ah, yes. That is indeed a task best left to your alpha.” He hiked up Arthur’s chemise and planted kisses down his stomach before his mouth delved low, seeking the sweetness between Arthur's legs. “See how your body responds for me, opens for me? And when I touch you, within, just look at how your essence flows.”

Arthur’s voice rang out, singing his pleasure. “Such blessed, swift rescue, Eames.” His head fell to the side, his hips rolled of their own accord, seeking more of Eames’ touch, deeper.

“Oh, but darling, I haven’t saved you yet.” He growled, flipping Arthur onto his stomach. “There is still your request that I must grant.”

He drew him up on hands and knees, positioning him just so. Eames traced the dimples on his lower back and tugged apart his thighs, reveling the shiver that raced up Arthur’s spine. He coaxed him open with skilled fingers and admired the wetness he found there. With deft hands, the King freed his cock and pushed into Arthur’s body. His strokes were only careful long enough for Arthur to adjust. He fucked him in strong, deep thrusts, his hands firm on his waist, pulling him back to meet each hard snap of his hips.

Eames watched his greedy cock ravage, his hips painting Arthur’s ass pink when he fucked harder. His eyes went gold and he let his weight collapse over him, pinning him to the bed to take him as deep as he could.

As the King rode the Prince with vigor, the guards outside his bedroom door each glanced at one another awkwardly. The bed frame thumped against the wall. Their cries of passion echoed through the parlor where the attendants sat playing cards, and onward, through the rest of the King's privy chambers.

+ 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty hopeful that this will be the first of TWO updates for this weekend, because you all have been so lovely and supportive!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

+

 

"Have your Majesty's efforts gone well thus far?" Cardinal Stewart asked, as Eames redressed after his exam with the doctor. “Eventful, I hope.”

“In that case, Eminence, I regret to disappoint you.”

“Never, Majesty,” he chuckled. “I am very aware how most would see a Cardinal’s vow of chastity as a heavy cross to carry, but I will say, Majesty, that in your pursuit of heirs, I envy you not.”

“Oh, but you should,” Eames boasted. “Every morning, his scent is unchanged, but every night that precedes it and every new one that follows leaves me in no way unsatisfied. We sleep. That’s all, just sleep, and yet…I find myself always counting down the hours just to get back to the quiet and peace I find in his arms, as if sleeping in his bed were the greatest medicine for the soul. Perhaps it is.” He smiled, his thoughts far away.

“But?” The Cardinal prompted.

Eames relented. “It _does_ worry me, I can admit that. Omegas are supposed to be molded for conceiving children. We shouldn’t have to work so hard. He's probably just overstressed again, by all this pressure, so I try not to add on my own. God, it's all ridiculous. My mind, my body, my nature wants offspring and it drives me nuts sometimes, but my heart is content as is, your Eminence. More than content, actually. And I know the moment our child is in his arms, all feelings of wanting a child will disappear in favor of jealousy, now that Arthur's attention would be focused on another besides me. It's madness!”

"It is your god-given right and duty, as King."

"I know." He sighed. “Well, I'm quite sure now that my rut is coming, it will be an even longer wait until we're successful. I haven't become violent yet, perhaps because we've bonded, but I still don't trust myself to be around Arthur until it passes. I refuse to give him unwarranted stress all over again."  

“Majesty, do not guilt yourself," he soothed. "An honorable mate would not keep their womb closed to their alpha.”

“Then surely it must be me, because there is no more honorable and loving a mate than Arthur.” Eames paced.

The doctor monitored his pacing. "What is your daily schedule like, Majesty?"

“I work long hours, I train with the soldiers for hours more, and then I try to bed Arthur as many nights as I can, but often we simply sleep the nights away… I miss meals, but make sure to eat as much as I can when I can to maintain my strength, but being in the fields, not sleeping, I fear I’m not doing enough.”

The doctor scratched his chin. "What sort of…methods does his Majesty and the Prince use whilst in coitus?"

"We… Well, I knot him, generally two or three times. More during his heat, of course."

The Cardinal scratched his chin as well, contemplating possibilities. “Does the Prince ever…mount your horn whilst you lay on your back, Majesty?”

Eames paused. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, the Prince must never sit upon your lap, Sire,” the doctor advised. “It is impossible for him to ever conceive that way, nor anyone, for that matter.”

Eames took a step back, crossing his arms. “ _Really_? That can’t be right, doctor. His channel is very small. I swear I touch his womb when fully sheathed inside him. There is no other place for my seed to go but to where it’s intended. If others cannot conceive this way, I know my Arthur at least could.”

The older betas glanced at each other, their faces red, trying not to picture the description.

At last, the doctor responded, “Well…your Majesty would never attempt to pour wine into a cup upside down."

Eames’ brow rose in understanding. “I see, good doctor. I shall take your advice to heart. What are some techniques that would be most beneficial, then?”

“His Majesty must always mount the Prince from above, with him laid on his stomach for the seed to settle in his womb most firmly. Perhaps with pillows beneath him to angle his hips just so." 

"But not on his back?"

"Your Majesty ought only do so sparingly. Viewing the Prince's male organ during coitus may have adverse results."

"My goodness, I had no idea."

"However, for your personal comfort, Majesty, if you wish to view his face while copulating in order to inspire your knot, then perhaps you may lay the omega down on his side, as he would lay during sleep. That would work as well.”

“And not on his knees?”

“No, no, Majesty. The jostling of his hips in that position may dislodge your seed when he moves.”

Eames frowned, knowing that scenario just had to be impossible, and, realizing that both his Cardinal and physician were human betas, he knew as well that these men had no idea what a knot was or how it even worked.

Cardinal Stewart patted him on the shoulder with a kind smile. "Perform the final mating ritual, and all of this won't matter, your Majesty. Do that, officially turn him into your obedient and submissive mate, and all your troubles will be solved."

Eames frowned deeper and stepped back, dread filling his stomach. "Thank you, Eminence, and good doctor. I shall reflect on your advice and adjust accordingly." Before they could say another word, he turned, trying to banish all thought of mating rituals and positions, but as his rut grew stronger, he found it harder and harder not to act on the Cardinal's words and fully, truly, claim Arthur as his.  

+

 

Arthur put his hands on his hips, annoyed. “His Eminence is late again?”

“Yes, your Highness. His Grace sends his sincerest apologies and asks—”

“That I wait for his arrival, as usual.” He waved the servant back to his duties as his ladies and boy made themselves comfortable.

It had been the same routine the entire time they’d worked together. Arthur would arrive on time, the servant would have an excuse ready and by the time Arthur and his attendants had gone mad with idle waiting, the beta elder would come with lists of errands for the attendants and servants and a longer list of tasks for Arthur. The Cardinal meant to overwhelm him and make him quit, but Arthur proved himself more than competent at every turn. What a shame that the Cardinal’s imagined slights still hindered him from seeing that he and Arthur had planned the greatest festival the court would ever see.

Arthur sighed as the time slipped away. He made a lazy stroll from bookshelf to window before pausing in front of the Cardinal’s desk.

“His Eminence has a very nice view of the grounds, does he not, your Highness?” his lady asked with a knowing smirk that Arthur returned.

“Indeed.” He knew it best not to pry, but the Cardinal’s ledger was open in plain sight on top of his various books and maps. The more his finger grazed the scribbled lines the harder his brow creased.

“Now Highness,” the Cardinal condescended as he stepped into the room, “you must be careful never to peek at an intelligent man’s work or risk hurting your little brain with all those numbers and tallies.”

Arthur didn’t bother looking up when he responded, “All of these tallies are incorrect, your Eminence.”

“Your Highness,” he chuckled, “I thought King Miles would have had better tutors for his children.”

Arthur pointed to the figures written atop each line. “These were supposed to be increased by forty percent, as this note states, but your math has the totals at,” he quickly did the math in his head, “seventy-five percent. And then here,” he pointed, “this date is out of order from the rest and has therefore made those dates to the right a day ahead and on the left, a day behind. The twenty-second of June, you see, was on a Thursday, not a Sunday. Remember that it fell on a Saint’s holiday?” He glanced at the man expectantly.

The attendants didn’t bother to muffle their snickering and whispering. Cardinal Stewart’s expression faltered as he looked from Arthur to his ledger and pulled it closer to examine his notes more thoroughly. He checked the calendar as well, his face getting redder by the minute as he did his calculations by quill and a scrap of paper.

In the end, he simply patted Arthur’s hand away from the page and closed the ledger. He smiled. “Again, not any matters that should interest the King’s omega. Speaking of which, all this timehas past without me ever congratulating you, your Highness, on the late arrival of your past heat. Since then, you have become the full moon lighting the King’s night sky—or so I’ve heard it said at court.”

His fists balled behind his back with the effort to keep his hurt from showing. He smiled politely. “Engston court is very much unlike Milecomté’s, Eminence.”

“In what way?”

“Surely you agree that what they consider a compliment is strange and incredibly insulting to their King’s spouse, their future Queen.”

The Cardinal’s eyes narrowed before he grinned and shrugged. “Take no offense from it, little Prince. I interpret it to simply mean that… Well, you spend so little time at court, and so much time in private quarters with his Majesty, some wonder if… Perhaps I should not say.”

Arthur glared when the Cardinal turned his back again, knowing very well Cardinal Stewart itched to drive his knife deeper still, but the beta was in no means foolish enough to go that far. “ _If_ , Eminence?”

“If…” He cleared his throat at Arthur’s innocent expression, unable to say more. “Shall we get to business, your Highness?”

“Oh, I’m in no rush. Besides, we’re only here today to make a checklist in case we’ve missed something, which won’t take long at all, as you and I have been quite responsible so far."

"But this is a useless topic, Highness."

"It's just that I wish first and foremost to learn all I can about the ways and words of my husband’s court, so…please help me in understanding this.” He sat in a chair close by, pretending to think very hard. “Why would they compare me to the moon and not the sun? I understand the moon’s fullness in this case has nothing to do with King Eames’ shifting and simply to do with the brightness of the moon’s light during the lunar cycle. But…his Majesty would only need the moon’s light for two things: shifting,” he made a show of counting on his fingers, playing the fool while his attendants continued to giggle, “and…" His face fell. "Oh dear, your Eminence. I ought to tell his Majesty about this. Are you not offended by such vulgarity as well?”

The Cardinal sputtered for a moment before clearing his throat, his expression deadly serious. “His Majesty will be here shortly for our meeting, so I will be sure to tell him what I've heard from court then for you. Shall we begin the checklist?”

Arthur couldn’t hold back his smirk entirely. He extended his arm over the Cardinal’s desk, inviting him to sit. “Please.”

Cardinal Stewart sat with an irritated sigh and began rifling through their notes as Arthur wrote down his confirmations. Towards the end, the Cardinal paused, eyeing Arthur critically before he asked, “I don’t mean to pry, but I only wonder if spending much of your time these days with this festival isn’t disrupting your pursuit to produce the King’s firstborn.”

“Of course not.”

“Well then, if you’re not avoiding time possibly spent with the King then why have you closed off your womb to him? There ought to have been a conception by now, surely, especially during such a long heat.”

Arthur had to scratch out the note he’d just written, so blindsided by the invasive question that he made a mistake and had to start the sentence over. He could feel his face getting hot with embarrassment as the Cardinal waited for his answer. “Should such matters be of interest to the King’s Cardinal?” he said at last to the paper, unconsciously pulling his rigid collar tighter around his neck.

“Indeed, your Highness. As I care for his Majesty's well-being and the future of the realm, as I’m sure you do as well, I see fit to offer you council on the issue. I counseled the King this very morning, in fact.”

“Your Eminence is very charitable, but I must decline,” he managed to say.

“You wouldn’t want to find yourself out of the King’s favor again, Highness, not so soon after falling hard the first time around.”

“I insist. I’m not worried.”

“You ought to be. His Majesty will grow tired of waiting.”

Arthur sighed heavily and put down his quill. “I know in my heart that would never happen. To his court, I am only the belly carrying the King’s child or not carrying it, but to the King, I am his mate.”

“Highness,” he teased, “there is hardly a difference.”

Arthur’s shoulders sank, his resolve at last broken after trying to dislodge the beta from under his skin and failing. He took a deep breath, his eyes stinging, because a part of him deep down knew the Cardinal’s words were true.

The Cardinal studied Arthur’s downturned face for a moment before speaking softly. “There is, however, one simple thing that you could do, right now in fact, that would both ease your troubles and make his Majesty eternally happy…” His smile turned smug when Arthur glanced up at him. “Are you aware of the steps necessary to making oneself the true and rightful mate of a werewolf alpha and the Queen of Engston?”

Arthur frowned. “I am sure I’ve performed all but one.” His eyes fell back to his lap.

“All but _two_ , actually.” When Arthur looked up again, he explained. “So far, you have bonded with the King and have begun your social work, although quite poorly, due to your lack of a steady presence in the public eye of the court, but apart from an heir, you still have yet to receive the King’s bite.”

“Bite? You mean…” His brow shot up, his mouth slack.

“It is both tradition and law within the Eames dynasty. Give the King your full submission and in return, you receive the right to be Queen. No one has told you this before? What a shame.”

“But would I not become a werewolf?”

“You would. As his mate, you and his Majesty would be of the same mind and heart in all things—if you survive, of course. King Eames is a very powerful werewolf, whose blood has proven too strong for more than a few humans in the past. It's a very dangerous process.”

“The King turned you?”

“No. As much as it would have been the greatest honor of all, I am a man of god, therefore not permitted by the Grand Church. Of course, I would have accepted it at once. You seem troubled.”

“Doing this would be against my father’s faith. If I were turned, as his Majesty's mate, he would become my master and my will would diminish, correct? The Holy Mother teaches that, yes I should defer to my husband, but to relinquish not only my whole power over myself but my humanity as well, would be wrong. And if you say that there were others who did not survive the King's turning, then…I've never been a very healthy youth. I know that I would perish.”

The Cardinal smiled wider. “That’s good. You can refuse, your Highness. You see, what many people try to ignore around here, is that the country is still painfully torn in accepting the Eameses as their masters, because they too believe such supernatural blood to be evil—”

“I never said that it was—”

“—so for you to refuse so graciously, it would unite the country at long last and end the rebellions. Not to mention, it would ease your husband's troubled heart not to put you at such high risk if he does not have to turn you, your Highness.”

Arthur eyed him with suspicion, his mind trying to cover every angle of this and still coming up short. He remembered Eames' story of his family's turning and the curse. It filled him with even more uncertainty. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t trust what you say. I don't trust you at all.”

The Cardinal laid his palms up on the table between them, his face neutral. “Your Highness, I find it tragic that you expect me to be dishonest in such an important matter of state. Personally, I think you and I simply got off on the wrong foot, and I am willing to put it all in the past for the good of the country. I admit I am especially hard on you, but only because I wish for you to grow strong and to succeed here.” He rifled over his books and papers as he spoke, at last finding the document he’d been searching for. He handed it to Arthur. “You need not trust me when you say you have full faith in his Majesty's love. In fact, I think very much that he would be proud to see you take initiative on this issue, no matter the choice you make. You need only sign this with your decision.”

He read over the statement to make sure he saw no trickery. “Do I have time to consider my options first? I should speak with my husband.”

“You need only to consider the country and the good you will bring, your Highness. Sign.” He watched him put quill to paper with the brightest smile and chuckled as he admired Arthur’s signature once the document was back in his hands. “Besides, his Majesty need not turn you when you’re already so wonderfully pliable as is.”

Arthur's heart sank. He began to speak, but his husband was announced by the guard and entered.

“Hush, hush, little Arthur.” The Cardinal put his finger to his mouth, mocking him as if he were a child. “The King mustn’t know a word of what we’re planning for the festival. Good day, your Highness.”

Arthur's eyes were still on the Cardinal when the King kissed his cheek.  

Eames' glance shifted from Arthur’s to the Cardinal’s. “Is something wrong, my darling?” he asked, holding his face. 

Cardinal Stewart cowed him with his stare behind Eames' shoulder. Arthur gently removed the King’s hands and stepped back. “No, husband, I’m quite well, thank you.”

He watched them settle into easy conversation as he and the attendants took their leave.

"I have just received the most troubling news, your Majesty," he heard the Cardinal say before the door closed behind him.

+

 

Yusuf sighed, wishing for some spell to transport him through to the end of the week. “What have we men done that was so cruel as to deserve god’s creation of alpha ruts? Your Majesty,” he wanted to tell him that if he planned on stomping a pace circle into his office floor then he ought to have a good reason why, but he knew Eames, and knew how sensitive his ruts made him to even the slightest teasing. “Will you at least tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

“Cardinal Stewart overstepped his boundaries with my mate—which isn’t even an issue, considering the revelation it revealed.” He pulled the document from inside his fur-lined overcoat and thrust it into Yusuf’s chest.

He skimmed it as Eames resumed his pacing. He snorted. “Well, what do you expect? Of course if a human like Stewart, who begged you for months not to bite him only because he was terrified, tried to convince another human, who knows next to nothing about werewolves, into becoming that very thing, Arthur would obviously say no.”

“But _why_ , Yusuf? Why would he, _my_ Arthur, say no without even coming to me about this?” He crossed his arms. “And not just any no. Stewart said that when he brought it up, Arthur aggressively refused at once, as if he’d been asked to eat his own hair or something. I don’t fucking get it. He has no idea what being human means in this court or what it would mean for our children. They would be vulnerable, and forced to fight off human disease and, worse, they would have to compete with other human heirs for their marriages and power. It would not matter if their father was a great werewolf, they’d still be hardly better than, say, Dominic’s children or Arthur’s nieces and nephews. But with a pack of werewolf alphas, every kingdom would fall to its knees without question. Think about it, Yusuf, think of the prospect of never having to fight another war again for titles or crowns. Each child could have their own territories and realms, and not have to battle over scraps like I and my brothers had to.”

Yusuf sighed again. “Talk to him, Eames. Or, perhaps I could. I was human once. I fought the battle and came out just fine in the end. Granted, you were a baby back then, and the risks were not so high, considering, but I guarantee he’d feel more assured if it was his mate or me telling him what to do, not some coward priest like old Stewart.”

“What would it matter now? Arthur’s mind is set.” He slumped into his chair. “Well, I suppose it’s for the best anyways. My conscience is cleared.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had been putting off bringing up the matter to Arthur since we'd first been married, because you’re right, there _are_ huge risks, particularly for him. I listen as his heartbeat flutters and skips so easily and hear him lose his breath quickly just the same, at night, as if the next deep inhale might be too much for him. If he were turned, all that could go away. He would be strong and never have to fear fever again, and our children would be pure and perfect, _or_ …it could kill him.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “And I guess, also, in my heart I always knew he’d say no, so I never asked.” He shrugged, his temper receding. “Now I don’t have to.”

Yusuf grimaced and finished his wine before saying, “Majesty…you still have to.”

“Why?”

“It’s the law, set in stone by your father’s father. Arthur must be a werewolf in order for your family and your realm to accept him as your mate and only then, will Parliament grant him the title of Queen. That’s why your father chose to…” He cleared his throat. “That’s how your mother…was turned. She was forced the bite or else, you and your brothers would have been seen as illegitimate.”

Eames’ eyes rose to Yusuf in a glare. Yusuf braced himself to be hit when Eames stood, but the alpha only resumed his earlier pacing.

At last, Eames spoke though his voice wavered. “She lost her mind. Turning changed her for the worst, I remember you telling me so, because she was forced it, _attacked_.”

“Then you understand the predicament Prince Arthur has place himself into. To deny your bite would mean the scorn of the country and of Parliament. I will meet with him, Majesty, and change his mind for the better.”

Eames’ fists clenched. He wanted to go to his grandfather’s grave and dig him up just to fling his bones across the countryside.

+ 

 


	11. Chapter 11

+

 

Arthur’s attendants weren’t used to seeing him angry, as if the King’s temper had rubbed off on him, and now they all moved about the parlor in silence.

“Highness,” Lady Catherine spoke at last, “it is time to dress you for dinner with his Majesty.”

Arthur stood from his chair in the corner, his book in hand. “I’m not going.” He sat back down and continued to read.

“Highness? You must.”

“Tell his Majesty that I’m tired.”

“But, you love having dinner with your husband. Besides, if you are not there, he will simply come here.”

“Then don’t let him. That is an order.” He stood again, taking Sophie with him to his bedroom. “Don’t follow me.”

Arthur breathed in deep once the door closed. He let Sophie roam and sniff the floor as he sat at his writing table, intent to send Mal another letter, but what was the use, when she had not returned a single one send yet.

He heard the doorknob turn and click behind him. It made his blood boil. “Do my orders not matter? Have I no say in my own household as well?” He sighed, seeing who it was. “Lady Gretchford, I’m aware that you’ve just arrived, but if you require education on your new duties here, then seek out Lady Catherine.”

The young lady didn’t leave. When Arthur turned to face her again, she was toying with a pearl on her dress. “Yes, Lady Gretchford?”

She looked up nervous and curtsied. “Your Highness, I… I wish to be of assistance to you—”

“And you shall be. Thank you—”

“No, I mean—Forgive my offense, I didn’t intend to speak over you. I don’t wish to ever be so disrespectful again, your Highness.”

Arthur frowned when she didn’t rise from her curtsy or look higher than his knees. “You have my permission to speak, Madam.”

“Thank you, Highness. If I may…I…would like to offer you my ear, for you to speak your troubles to.”

“That’s very bold.”

“Forgive me, I just…”

“What is your name, my lady?”

“Ariadne, your Highness.”

His brow rose. He stepped closer. “You’re married to the King’s cousin?”

“I am.”

“And you are, then…a werewolf?” When she nodded at the ground, he stepped closer still. “I see. And who is your father?”

“The Duke of Rhodes.”

“Then you are _my_ cousin, Lady Ariadne.” At last, she relaxed, standing at her full height with a small smile. “You were a lady-in-waiting for my sister for a very short while. Why did you leave?”

Her eyes fell again, piquing Arthur’s curiosity. “I was, um, I was married off—married _to_ —the King’s cousin and had to be brought here.”

He frowned as he studied her. When she lifted her eyes again, he spoke. “Stay, but close the door.” His frown deepened when she paled, her eyes wide before she turned to do as told. “Is something wrong?”

“No, your Highness.”

He sighed, thinking quickly. “Help me out of these clothes, please.”

“Yes, your Highness, I’ll go fetch the others.”

“No, you are all I require.” He watched her closely. The more ribbons she untied the more her hands trembled. She froze as if petrified when Arthur stood in his chemise, removing his garter and tights. He handed them to her as he slipped into his robe. She was only slightly calmer now that it was over.

“You’re very timid for a werewolf, if you don’t mind me saying, Lady Ariadne.” She didn’t speak, so he tried again. “You said you wished to be my ear? But I can’t trust you if you’re hiding secrets. Did your husband send you hear to spy on me?”

“No! No, Lady Catherine brought me here. I just…” Her spirit deflated.

Arthur crossed his arms when he sat down at the writing desk. She sat at his feet, her eyes downcast. “Look at me. Do you mean to be dishonest?”

“No. I only fear now that I have completely overstepped with you. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“There is no trouble here.”

“I mean…with my husband, because…”

“Because he _does_ want you to spy on me. Why?”

“To regain favor with his Majesty,” she muttered.

He sighed and wondered for a moment if Eames knew what his cousin was up to. He reached forward to pat her shoulder, but recoiled with surprise when she flinched.

“Forgive me, your Highness.”

He reached forward again and cupped her face, raising it to look into her eyes. He laughed suddenly. “We can’t be cousins. Cousins aren’t so similar as we are. We must be long lost twins instead, because I when I look at you, I see myself in a mirror of how I was when I was new to this country—only I was in tears, so you are much stronger than me on that point, although, I still don’t understand. You are a werewolf, but I frighten you.”

His brow creased when she dropped her eyes again. “Or, perhaps, the truth is that you’re not afraid of me at all, but of someone else.” His suspicion was confirmed by her continued silence. “We are of a similar age, I think. Yes, I remember you now,” he spoke softly, rubbing her cheeks. “Mallorie and I stayed at your father’s estate one summer while our home was being repaired after a storm. You and I were no older than five then. I took the last apple from the basket so you tried to throw me off the balcony and you were almost successful. You settled for throwing a great rock at me instead.” He sighed with relief when she laughed. “Where is that girl now?”

She glanced up, her hands playing with her dress again. “When we were so young, did you ever imagine being where you are now?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes when he shook his head. “Neither did I.”

“Is your husband much like mine?”

“No, your Highness. The King is warm fire. His cousin is jagged ice.”

“Well…then, this is how it shall be between us from now on: I’ll just be Arthur and you shall simply be Ariadne, not married, not Duchess or Prince, not even cousins, but friends. I had been promised a friend when I was first married, but he… Well, I was a little naïve to think things would go that way. Never mind, though. We have each other.”

“I would be honored—Oh my goodness, your Highness,” she gaped as he gave her one of his rings.

“A friend is what I need more than anything.”

Ariadne's hand covered the ring. Her small smile was back. “Me too.”

“Good. Then let’s speak as friends.” He moved to sit beside her on the floor.

She nodded. “My husband wants me to persuade you into accepting the King’s bite, but I can’t. It has cowed me, greatly, to have taken it myself. But at the same time, I wish for none of the conflict that plagues my household to infect yours, so I must also tell you, from my own heart, that with these werewolves, it is often best to do as they wish or have a great escape plan. For if you don’t take the bite, then you must cater to your husband’s every whim to keep him otherwise happy, which would mean giving yourself to him totally. If you do accept it, then it may save you from your husband’s grief, but cow you just as well.”

“Would it save you, if I did it, if you were able to persuade me as your husband wishes?”

“Only so far as the day is long. I could give him everything in life he’s ever wanted and still, my husband will always find new reasons to attack—” She blinked up at Arthur and swallowed. "I'm sorry."

“Why on earth did you marry him? My sister and Dominic’s love should have been enough to show you what true love looks like. Your father surely couldn’t have—” He faltered when she dropped her eyes. “Ariadne?”

“There was someone, in King Dominic’s court, that I loved." She lifted her necklace from its hiding place in her bodice to show him the tiny pendant of a bow and arrow carved in the oval stone. "We would ride horses into the forests and hunt from sunup to sundown. But I didn’t know the ways of court, the _real_ ways of court for unwed beta women. That if a man with a high enough rank asks you to bed, it is no question or request, but an order. I said no to King Eames’ cousin." She dropped her eyes again. "Perhaps I should not say more.”

“No, please. Tell me.”

She studied him for a long while before speaking, her voice tight. “He shifted the next day while I was out hunting with my friend. He chased me through the forest and left me for dead, after, but because I lived, he planted lies in anyone’s ears who would listen, afraid that he would be imprisoned if they knew the truth of what he'd done to me. He threatened my family and demanded my hand in marriage to save his honor, and mine. But he's afraid that King Eames knows the truth of what he's done, so he avoids him and the King's pack." When her eyes filled with tears, she turned away. "Forgive me, I’ve said too much.”

“No, not at all,” he reassured her, wrapping his arms around her. He rested his head on the back of her shoulder. “You have my favor, whatever good it may be worth.” He held her hands when she turned back to face him. “If I…If I were to take the bite, then perhaps I wouldn’t have to wait for a child to have enough of the King's favor to free you from the nightmare you've been living in. I promise I'll do everything in my power to—” He paused, hearing heavy familiar footfalls and voices outside the door.

It was the King. “Quick, quick,” he whispered. “Go through the door there and wait.”

The voices in the parlor ceased. Eames rushed past the guard, almost knocking him over when he entered. He looked Arthur over and crossed his arms.

Arthur was struck by his scent and groaned internally. He was both aroused and terrified, recognizing the King’s rut. Anything could happen now, good or bad, depending on what he did or said next. He remembered suddenly to bow. “Majesty.”

“You aren't ill. You aren’t in bed either.” His eyes searched the room, not yet golden, though they could change at the smallest infraction. “Who was here just now?”

Arthur swallowed and stepped closer, not sure it was the right thing to do. He hadn’t spoken to Eames all day, and had no idea what the Cardinal had told him, only what Lord Yusuf had said to Arthur upon seeing him that evening.

“Well? If you’re going to skip out on me, you’d better have a good reason, Arthur.”

He sighed. If only he could have had more time to think things through. “I was tired, husband, but Lady Gretchford wished to speak with me.” He sighed again before forcing out his words. “She…has convinced me to…honor you and…” his hands balled into angry fists behind his back, “to accept your bite.” Normally, saying the right thing to make Eames happy made him feel happy too. Eames’ smile was infectious. Now it only made Arthur feel like Cardinal Stewart had told the truth, about what it meant to be the King’s mate.

Eames cupped his face in gentle hands and kissed his cheeks. “Why didn’t you say so? I was worried.” His brow creased. “Is everything alright, Arthur? Are you sure? You must be honest in your heart, or else…” When Arthur nodded, he kissed him soundly. “I shall begin preparing the ceremony for the night before the Solstice.”

He blinked. “That’s tomorrow.”

“Precisely. Oh, my Arthur. You have no idea how much you’ve calmed my mind. I hate it that I can’t stay here with you tonight, but my tasks for today won’t be complete until late. But tomorrow," he smiled brightly, "we shall be together.”  

Arthur was still shaking his head after the King left when Ariadne peeked from behind the door. She set about brushing Sophie’s fur and putting her in her little bed as Arthur remained standing with his palms pressed into his eyes.

“If you’re still allowing me to be your friend, Arthur, then I wish to stay, without malice, that you’re a little strange.” When he lowered his hands, glaring at her, she explained. “When others are angry or just thinking, they pace and yell, but you stand still like a statue.”

“If I move, I’ll…” His hands balled into fists at his sides. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The first time I’d heard that I was supposed to become a werewolf was this morning. Now, there’s no time to even prepare myself. I swear, beggars who have to piss on the ground and sleep under ox carts have less trouble than I do being an omega. I mean, I don’t understand,” his anger grew, “I’ve always been a good and honest boy, I’ve respected my elders, stayed out of trouble, stayed chaste until I was married, I’ve never once missed a day at chapel, save for when I had my heat, I’ve studied and even out-taught my tutors, and for what? I hold my tongue and defer to those above me, even when I know more than they… I do everything I’m told to, and it’s never enough.” His palms returned to his eyes. He tried to rub his tiredness out of his face. “Now, he’ll turn me into a werewolf, or I’ll die in the process and they’ll all still fault me for leaving him no heirs. I’m sure all those beta hopefuls who wanted to marry the King are all so envious of my grand prospects. I miss being a shadow, Ariadne. Being a puppet is killing my soul.”

He sat on the edge of his bed and patted the space beside him. They both sighed with irritation when Sophie refused to stay in her bed. She settled into Arthur’s lap without being scolded.

“But you’ve beat nearly every odd so far. You’re so near your breakthrough, Arthur. Give the King a child and you’ll be able to forge your own path.”

He tossed up his arms in exasperation. “I want to cut out my womb and force someone else to take it—if the thing even works, which I’m almost certain, it does not. Lady Catherine left no book or parchment overlooked in educating me about omegas. I’m supposed to be happy as a docile, little womb for my alpha. I should have conceived the first time we lay together and now should be floating in the glorious bliss that is an omega’s pregnancy. The King should have to be barred from his conjugal rights, as an omega will try to conceive with a child already in their bellies. They’re always hungry for it. I feel none of that.”

She let Sophie lick her face as she sat, thinking. “Has the King complained?”

“To Cardinal Stewart, of all people. I’ve read of kingdom unions in which mates of two separate faiths or denominations marry and it causes conflict, but…I could change my faith, easily. I prescribe more to Mal’s sorcery than tales of virgin mothers and vengeful gods, therefore, I do not understand where that man’s vendetta against me comes from. And it has hurt me to no end that the King would think to support me on such flimsy surfaces, on his empty reassurances, for his subjects to so easily push it from under my feet and watch me fall.”

She nodded. “Jeremy told me all that he’s said to you. If the King were to know, would he not have the Cardinal’s heart pulled from his chest and devoured? You need to tell him that you’ve been mistreated.”

“I can’t. Not yet. The King only has two sides. Lord Yusuf sits on his right and the Cardinal on his left. The Cardinal said I was the full moon lighting the King’s night sky. I’ve heard far too many stories of bedmates and concubines thinking that by simply opening their legs for their masters that they have power. And they try to wield that power over stronger men prematurely.” He shook his head. “The King sleeps at night. I need to make myself his morning sun to rise and shine light over all his must see, to wake him from his slumber. Then, I will be able to take the Cardinal’s place and rejoice, with the King, in his falling. And I will also do right by you as well.”

Ariadne smiled and leaned forward with excitement. “Your friendship is the greatest blessing, Arthur.”

“As is yours, but don’t hold much stock in what I say just yet. So long as my belly is empty, I have no power.” His shoulders sank as he glanced at his flat stomach. He pulled his necklace from behind his chemise and showed to Ariadne. “This was Mal’s last token to me before she left. It was supposed to bring me good fortune, but since I have yet to hear from her, I wonder now if the pendant was not cursed in one of her spells when she wrapped it inside her farewell letter.”

Ariadne shook her head as she helped him into bed and tucked him in. She resumed her perch on its edge with Sophie. “I still say that all’s not lost. Not yet. If you just…pretend, for a little while longer, or say and do whatever you can to keep the King’s heart in your hands, then who knows? If you can never have children, at least he will know that you tried your best. And as werewolves together, he would love you always.”

He turned on his side towards her with a sigh. “If I had known love came with some many terms and conditions, Ariadne,” he grumbled, “then I wouldn’t have let the King take my love without first demanding a few conditions of my own.”

+

 

Whether Mal’s pendant was cursed or not, Arthur still wore it under his gown the next night. His bedchamber was as filled with witnesses as it had been on his wedding night. Drapes and curtains had been reattached to his bed’s canopy and the priests waved their incense and murmured prayers once again. Arthur hoped at least, not knowing exactly what this ceremony entailed, that the King would send them off again.

He’d spent the morning and afternoon in prayer, and in the evening, he'd read as much as he could find of all the lore and histories of werewolves. Even strong knights in battle died from a too potent bite, and the stories of babies shifting in their mother’s wombs and tearing apart their stomachs had left him unable to eat or rest, which already put him in unfavorable odds.

He sat at his writing desk as everyone milled around, waiting for the King's arrival. He was finishing his letter to his brother Paul when Lord Yusuf approached with a set of papers, a few of them blank. “What are these for?”

“Your final will and testament, as is required in such matters.”

He paled and averted his gaze as he regained composure. “This is really happening, isn’t it? What…exactly…am I supposed to do when…”

The Lord Chancellor hid his grimace, though not well. “You will be turned, and then together shift and mate as a wolf pair, your Highness. That is, of course, if the King wishes to do so,” he hurried to add. “If you find yourself to be more comfortable in your human form, which is perfectly fine, you see, you may shift back into that form. Although, I caution you that the King is quite comfortable in _his_ wolf form and his wolf form is quite…enormous, and your wolf form will provide you some modesties that your human form cannot, behind such sheer curtains, so…” He couldn’t say more, seeing Arthur’s expression change from nervousness to mute horror. He settled for patting Arthur’s shoulder and stepped back to give the Prince space to plot out his will.

Arthur couldn’t swallow. He tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t work properly. His skin felt clammy and hot, his heart beat so fast, he feared he’d faint, but when he glanced up and saw Ariadne among his ladies, he was able to relax a little.

She joined him at his desk to help him sort out the papers.

“I swear when this is over,” he grumbled, “if I survive, I’m coming after you. Or at least, my ghost will.”

She took a frightened step back. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“Of course not,” he tried to smile. He leaned in close when he next whispered, “I’ll simply shift into a great beast and go for your husband’s throat and then Stewart’s.” He winked and smiled, conspiratorial and teasing with her.

His laughter ceased when Lord Yusuf handed him the first document to sign. He looked up at Ariadne. “Thank you. You’ve been good to me in this short time. I've never really had the opportunity to spend time with someone my age, and you've done nothing but make our friendship the best I could ask for. May I leave some of my income to you? I wish to split the bulk of it amongst all my attendants, especially Lady Catherine. And will you return to Mallorie to care for her, if I'm gone?”

“You needn't think of such a future, your Highness. You’ll be fine.”

He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’m not strong like you, and I can only pretend to myself that I am, because I know that you, and Lord Yusuf, and everyone else here who is a werewolf can hear how my heart is already failing me just from fear. I’m afraid to die and that fear of dying just taxes my heart and brings me even closer to death.” He laughed bitterly as he signed the last paper.    

“Your Highness,” Cardinal Stewart bowed as he arrived with the King’s grooms, “are you ready to receive his Majesty?”

He tried not to let the scorn he felt for the Cardinal show in his face when he assented. He only let his heart be charged instead with digging up some hidden reserve of bravery he prayed had to exist somewhere within.

When Eames arrived, Arthur was kissed on his forehead, his hands shaking in the King’s light grasp when they moved to sit in the center of his bed. His attendants closed the drapes around them as Arthur was made to sit with his back to his husband. “Are they meant to be able to still see us, Majesty?” he whispered.

“They can hear us as well, regretfully, but they only need witness the bite and your transformation, nothing more. Try to focus on me.” He massaged Arthur's arms a little before removing Arthur’s robe and chemise collar from his shoulders.

Even Eames’ hands held a tremor. Arthur turned around to look at him with worry as those hands brushed aside his hair to bare the nape of his neck. His golden eyes made Arthur’s heartbeat quicken more. Dizzy, he closed his eyes and waited, mouthing more prayers, his hands clenched over Mallorie's pendant.

“For the last time, my Arthur, I must know that you are sure and ready to receive me.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest aching now, so he nodded.

“You have to say it, Arthur. Do you, Prince of Milecomté, accept the title and duty of Queen?”

When the King’s hands traveled to his, Arthur held them tightly, steeling himself. “I… Yes.” The breath of relief from King Eames gave him a chill when the air tickled his neck.

“Then bow forward, for your King, my sweet and loving Prince,” Eames ordered with care in a voice that carried to their witnesses. “For when you turn to face me…you shall be Queen at last.”

Arthur could see Ariadne and the rosary held tight in her hands from under his lashes before his vision when black with pain as Eames’ teeth sank into his flesh. In and out his vision wavered, fading again as Eames healed the wound with rough laps from his tongue.

He could hear and feel his heartbeat as if it were in his hands and pressed to his ear. His panic shot through the ceiling first before calm flooded through his veins. His heart’s tempo grew slower and slower, the sound further away. He was dying.

Arthur blinked and found himself on his back against the pillows, the drapes all open to let in the King’s physicians. He was neither breathing nor his heart beating at all now, until Eames roared to send everyone in the room away from the bed.

His teeth latched in the crook of Arthur’s shoulder and neck a second time, harder than before, sending him into more blinding pain. But his heart was beating again when the King withdrew. His attendants all cried in their relief.

“Arthur, talk to me. Tell me you’re alright,” Eames whispered.

His neck felt burned when Eames embraced him. Never before had the King’s scent been more soothing and grounding. “I feel different, better, actually.” He let a small smile break through his shock to meet Eames’ wide grin, happy to have survived.

“Thank god.” He kissed Arthur’s face. “And I assume it didn’t even hurt you, did it?” he teased, kissing his face again.

“But, Majesty, why has he not shifted yet?” asked one of the priests. “Werewolves when turned shift at once. Is he still human?” His questions were met with murmurs the King quickly silenced.

“My good ladies and lords, your graces, and your eminences, it is a message from god not to tamper with that which is rare and perfect.”

Cardinal Stewart stepped forward, eyeing Arthur with open suspicion. “But your Majesty must—”

“No, no, your Eminence. When god speaks, we must listen or suffer. I have already bitten my mate twice. I shall not tempt god a third time. You have all been witness to this, therefore the ceremony is over. Now,” he glanced at Arthur fondly, “come receive your new Queen and take your leave of us.”

Each person bowed low and kissed both Eames and Arthur’s rings.

Lord Yusuf and Cardinal Stewart were of the first to make it out into the parlor.

The Cardinal was pacing just outside the door, his face red with anger until he finally noticed that eyes from the privy council were watching him. “It would have bloody worked on Charlotte,” he hissed to Yusuf, “and if not, she would have gladly taken the King’s bite five times if she had to, for the good of his Majesty _and_ his law. My niece would have been an obedient and devoted wife to His Majesty from day-one.”

“Oh, give it up, Stewart,” The Earl of Green teased when he joined them in the corridor, his arm over the Cardinal’s shoulder. “No matter how much favor the King holds for you and your precious family, your lovely niece is never going to be his wife and she’s never ever going to be the Queen of Engston. She lost her bid.” He smiled when the Cardinal shrugged him off. “The omega from Milecomté is here to stay.”

“He’s a wonder to us all,” Yusuf mused. “He was bitten twice and he remains unchanged. It’s unheard of.” He beamed. “I quite like him!”

The Earl laughed as Cardinal Stewart stomped off. He leaned against the wall beside Yusuf. “I like Arthur as well. I like hearing him sing for his Majesty at the crack of dawn while I break my lance in the King’s groom out in the corridor. Arthur’s not boring like the Cardinal’s snobby niece and he’s much easier on the eyes. And he smells nice. And I doubt a Cardinal’s niece would let the King teach her how to deepthroat him as I heard the other night, that’s for sure.”

Yusuf shook his head, trying not to laugh while the Cardinal was still in earshot. “Stewart will castrate you for saying that. He’s very fond of his niece.”

“Let him try,” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t be where I am now if I could not trust my nose, and it’s pointing me towards the Prince. The Cardinal’s finished. We’ll all be praising the Good Mother or whatever she’s called, any day now. Or perhaps tonight.” He glanced behind him at the closed bedroom door. “The King did not seem very tired when we left, my Lord, and the near-death of one’s beloved is sure to inspire complete and utter devotion from his Majesty to his new Queen.”

 

As the room cleared, Eames watched Arthur slowly inhale larger and larger lungfuls of air, as if testing their capacity. “How are you feeling, darling? Are you certain you’re alright?”

Arthur nodded solemnly, his hands covering his heart. His stare was far away. “I admit, it is a scary thing, to have lived in pain all my life and not know it until it’s gone.”

He massaged Arthur's arms again. “So your body has indeed taken my bite, in some form,” he noted, his eyes still golden as they studied Arthur.

“I think so too, Majesty, but I worry about my not turning.”

“Don’t. You’ve done what’s required by law.” He touched the angry red wounds on the back of Arthur’s neck, sorry when Arthur winced under his hand. “These scars will stand as testament to the ceremony. That is enough, under the circumstances.” His hand lingered on Arthur’s bared shoulder, brushed over his collarbone, and traced his bottom lip. He cleared his throat and looked away before sighing. “Well, my darling, since you are feeling better, I suppose I should take my leave as well.”

“You aren’t staying?”

“I want to, always, but… As I’m sure you noticed the first time you witnessed my rut, you know that alpha and omega heats are quite different. Whereas you need constant care during yours, during mine it is better than I handle it in private.”

Arthur didn’t have to think it over long. It could be a problem in the morning that Arthur had no wolf form, and if that were so, he’d find himself yet again in trouble. He settled closer the Eames and let his hand disappear under the King’s nightgown. “I don’t mind helping you through it.” He smiled. “Perhaps then, it wouldn’t grow to be overwhelming, as it was before?”

Eames huffed. “You say that now. Wait ‘til I’m humping your leg in the middle of the night and shredding the sheets in a tantrum. However…” He took in their close proximity, feeling his rut getting stronger, both from biting his mate and at the prospect of mating him as well. “However, I _do_ suppose that things might be a little different, from when I had no mate to where I am now, with you.”

Arthur smiled at his knees. “You carried me through my heat… Let me carry you through yours.”

+

 

Arthur trailed his fingertips down the length of Eames' spine and over the curve of his ass. He watched Eames in the firelight as Eames stared at him, sated and sleepy. Arthur glanced down at his own stomach, wondering if they’d been successful this night, but afraid to ask. He thought hard on Ariadne's advice before speaking. “Should our firstborn be named Henry?” he asked against Eames' shoulder.

Eames smiled lazily. “You're just as impatient as I am, darling." He yawned. "Well…Henry would be a funny name if we were to have a daughter.”

“You…” Arthur frowned. “You don’t wish for a son?”

“Oh, of course. Hell, I wish for a whole household full of sons. Who doesn’t, but… I wish for a household full of daughters as well, I think.” When Arthur’s frowned deepened, he explained. “You’re an omega, my dear, therefore, any child we produce will be an alpha; strong, intelligent, born to rule, no matter their gender. Or, in a rare case, we might also have an omega as well. But I would like to see our daughters in their little dresses and long curls, stomping in the dust all the human boys who'd dare to court them.”

Arthur hoped his relief at not having to fret over male heirs wasn’t obvious. “But, wouldn't we have alpha daughters then?”

Eames shrugged. “Sure?”

“Alpha’s don’t carry children, or at least, aren’t prone to wanting to, I suppose.”

“No." Eames grinned. "You’re right." He stretched and rolled on top of Arthur, squeezing him in his arms. "We  _sire_  them," he emphasized as he entered his omega again. A content sigh passed his lips as Arthur gasped with renewed pleasure. “We sire lots and lots of them,” he purred in his ear as he began to rock his hips.

Arthur found it difficult to form the right words in Eames’ language, so filled with his sex. “How…how would she…manage, then?”

“Ah, I understand your confusion now,” he muttered between kisses. “You see, my darling, betas and male alphas are all quite common, but male omegas such as you and female alphas are different. Much like with your anatomy, and this delicious quim you keep hidden from me when you’ve satiated yourself of my seed,” he teased, growling as he pushed in to hilt and stayed there, making Arthur moan, “a female alpha’s horn—though quite small, thankfully," he grunted, "as there would really be no use of beta men otherwise—remains hidden until aroused.”

Arthur moaned into Eames’ hair, feeling his release build as he met Eames’ strokes with as slow a roll from his narrow hips. He panted, “I remember there was a female alpha who was removed from court soon before we met.”

Eames growled at the memory, his strokes faster. “Yes, well… Alphas, male or female, don’t exactly get along very well in that setting, which may be the greatest understatement I shall ever utter in my life,” he laughed as he hiked Arthur's legs up higher, folding him in half.

Arthur chuckled, holding onto Eames' arms, and teased, “She could have stolen a few of your potential betas that night.”

“Exactly.” He groaned when Arthur dug into his skin. His next stroke in was much harder than the last. “Hell, she could have taken you, had she not been removed.”

As if prompted by thought of losing his omega, his knot swelled. Arthur clung to Eames’ back as he came with him, slow and hard, milking Eames’ seed further inside him.

Coming down, Arthur held his tongue rather than ask his husband outright if he had been intimidated by the alpha princess. Instead, he cradled the King’s head to his neck, petting his hair. They panted together for a long while, in each other arms, until the knot subsided.

Arthur didn't speak again until Eames was able to roll them. He breathed in Eames' scent, laying over his chest. “I hope our girls grow up to be strong and masterful, like Mal.”

Eames kissed the top of Arthur's head, frowning even though his words were sincere when he whispered back, “So do I, my darling."

+

 

The festival was a grand success. Arthur glowed in his sparkling crown, reminiscent of a holly wreath, and the fur cloak Eames had gifted him. Eames was ever dotting as they sat together in their winter’s best to greet each member of court and to accept their lavish gifts.

Eames was still littering Arthur's face with kisses, his lips currently worshiping his dimples and eyebrows when he spoke. “I’m very proud of you for pulling off this festival in so little time, Arthur,” he whispered in praise, admiring the decorated hall once the crowds fanned out to dance and mingle. “I’m sure Cardinal Stewart was most grateful for your help. You know, I had suspected that the festival would still happen even if I was not here to arrange it myself, which is why I acted ahead of time to plan your gift.”

Arthur expected more clothes and jewels and houses, but not the man who stepped forward from the crowd. Arthur gasped and stood as his brother kneeled to kiss his and the King’s ring.

“Majesties,” Paul bowed, stern and courtly.

“Sir Paul arrived yesterday and has been kept hidden under lock and key,” Eames explained, standing with Arthur. “I was pleased to find that his military expertise rivals only my own, so it is well that I should make friends with him, rather than enemies,” he teased.

“I cannot begin to express my happiness, Majesty!” Arthur wanted to rush to his brother at once, but it was too improper. He made sure to watch his brother’s every move as the beta conversed about the hall and stole a dance or two from several of Arthur’s ladies.

At the end of the festival, when the moon was high in the sky, Arthur led the King and court out onto the grounds to reveal his own gift to Eames.

The small dragon screeched when the cover was removed from its cage. It was a magnificent beast with red feathers covering its head and black scales along its body and clipped wings. Eames kissed Arthur soundly and placed his chain of office around Arthur's neck before he and his pack took off into the forest to hunt down their dragon game.

Arthur was surprised and touched when the applause from the court did not cease after the King left.

He caught up with Paul just inside the palace walls. He could hardly wait for his brother to rise from kissing his rings again before he grabbed Paul’s hand and led him into an empty corridor where Paul nearly tackled him to the floor with his hug.

“Oh my god,” Paul marveled, circling Arthur with a charming smile. “The last time I saw you, I was a soldier who could barely ride a horse! I was a bachelor then, too! And you were only this tall.” He held his hand out in measure at his chest. “Now look at you, _your Majesty_.” 

“Look at _you_! You’re a dashing white knight from Mal’s books, prepared to rescue the fairest damsel in distress. And you’re growing a beard!” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Oh shit," Paul griped, "not my little sister’s fairytales.” He held Arthur’s face as he laughed fondly. He sighed, his smile wider still. “My god, Arthur. No wonder the King picked you. You’re lovely. And you look all of your mother. There’s no way you’re a son of King Miles. I don’t believe it at—Oh, wait!” He studied him with squinted eyes. “Yes, I see it! It’s the ears! You and Michel could fly with these things. Neither of you have mastered father’s art of keeping them closer to your heads like bird’s wings at rest, instead of always out and soaring.”

Arthur had to smack his hands away and kick his leg when his brother refused to let go of his ears. “Paul, please!” He blushed terribly and covered them under his hair and hands. “Tell me about your wife. Is she here?”

“Back home, with her mistress. Her lady’s arm was injured during their horseback riding lessons.”

Arthur’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t comment. “So you’re here all alone?”

“Unfortunately so. My mister, you see, could not travel with me either.”

He laughed, surprised. “You have a mister? Why isn’t he here, then?”

“He too was injured during that horseback riding lesson with my wife. It seems, from what my wife and I have gathered, her lady and my fellow were once lovers. I’m sure, that my Jocelyn is enjoying spending her holiday as a sweet nurse to them both and will no doubt have a book’s worth of tales for me when I return to Duval.”

Arthur shook his head, full of fondness for his brother. “Marriage has not changed you in the slightest. I know Michel and Gerard must be very unhappy to see you having so much fun.”

“Oh you’d love my lady. She’s book smart, sharp-tongued, beautiful… Mal adores her and she Mal—which is why we left King’s Dominic’s court rather quickly. I couldn’t have my wife pine for my sister!”

Arthur hid his brother behind a curtain when several nobles rounded the corner. They all stopped to bow to him before continuing on their paths.

Paul peeked from behind the dusty, heavy curtain with confusion. “Have I missed something, Arthur?” He frowned. “Your subjects are aware that you have at least one attractive male sibling, correct?”

“I have doubts that it matters. They don’t like me very much and look for reasons to spread rumors.”

As if turning a coin on its other side, Paul’s demeanor vastly changed. “Tell me who they all are and I will gladly gut them and let my soldiers raid their houses for spoils.” He crossed his arms when Arthur glared. “Does your King allow for such disrespect? I had assumed he was a better man than that.”

“Of course he doesn't, but he’s busy with too many things for me to let him worry. And, something that will make you proud, I hope, I am learning how to stand up for myself.”

“By hiding your brother behind a curtain?” He smiled. “Clever.”

“I’m a student, not a teacher. Not yet.”

Paul frowned at Arthur’s downturned face. “Arthur? Don’t tell me you’ve grown softer still under Mal’s care. I was only teasing. I meant no real offense.”

“No, it’s not that. I had only hoped for a moment that, when you surprised me earlier, Mal may have been here as well.”

“I had actually meant to question you about that, but…wasn’t certain if it was safe to pry. But, Arthur, you can’t expect for Mallorie to visit you if you do not return any of her letters.”

He took a step back, dumbfounded. “Paul, no. I write her everyday and everyday I look to receive some word from her yet none have come.”

“So it’s true, then, what I’ve heard. She’s been quite heartbroken in her pregnancy that you—”

“She’s pregnant?!”

Paul cleared his throat and peered around them at Arthur’s outburst. “Arthur, listen me. Arthur, listen. Be quiet. I see now what’s happened.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t understand, Paul.”

“You know your husband and you also know his enemy.”

“But, Mal isn’t his enemy. She’s just—”

“Carrying his enemy’s child,” Paul lamented.

Arthur stumbled backwards. “No. No. I will speak to his Majesty and discover the truth of all this.”

“Arthur,” Paul warned.

“I must. I mean… All our letters, all this time. He barred me from writing to Sir Robert, but said nothing about Mal. He likes Mal!”

“Just be careful, alright. Don’t allow for the King’s conflict with Dom to create conflict between the two of you. I like your husband, and am here as his ally. He’s attractive, and as far as I can assume, he’s good to you. I would hate to see him spoil that.” He steered Arthur back towards the music and dancing in the hall. “Go be with your subjects now, and I’ll set about finding all the knowledge I can for you. We’ll meet in the morning before I depart.”

+

 

Arthur was grateful that he could catch a moment of his husband’s time for their afternoon meal the next day when Eames and his pack returned victorious from their hunt. He needed to speak with him about Paul’s news at once.

He was nervous, like he hadn’t been in weeks, when Eames and his attendants arrived in Arthur’s parlor. Arthur knew very well how seriously the King took matters of state and knew that this war had not been easy on Eames either. There was no doubt in Arthur’s mind now that he was the light of his alpha’s eye, but King Dominic had been Eames’ enemy for far longer than Eames had known Arthur.

Eames was smiling when he cupped Arthur’s face to kiss. He paused, his brow furrowed.

Arthur looked at his funny expression with confusion, wondering if perhaps the King could smell Paul’s scent on him. He opened his mouth to explain, but Eames was already scenting around his neck.

Eames drew back, his eyes wide as a smile grew on his lips. “You smell different.”

“Well, I’ve just returned from seeing Paul off. He hugged me. He left this mo—”

“—No, no, no, no, no,” the King waved. He took Arthur’s hands and kissed them both. “Arthur, darling, _your scent has changed_. Do you hear me? You are with child—”

“—He told me very distressing news that I…” He blinked and blinked again, his voice tight and small when he managed to speak. “I… What?”

+

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

+

 

He felt dunked in ice water as Eames and his attendants stared at him in shock. He glanced to Lady Catherine who was already in tears. “No… No.”

“Yes, darling! You’re with child!” Eames lifted Arthur into the air, dancing in a circle with him in his arms as the attendants and servants cheered. He planted kisses all over Arthur’s face. When he drew back, there were tears in his eyes. He sat Arthur in his chair and knelt at his feet. “Oh my darling, my love.”

Arthur’s hands were shaking when Eames held and kissed them. He was still stunned to silence. All around him were happy faces, proud faces, that looked at him with so much joy as they praised his husband's good fortune. Eames had a surprised Lady Catherine in his arms now, spinning with her in his excitement. The ladies were already planning clothes for when Arthur would begin to show, and competing for positions as midwives.

Arthur sank down lower in his chair, his hands covering his stomach. He knew he would faint if he kept looking down at his hands, so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. When Eames returned with more kisses and proclamations of love, all Arthur could do was bury his distress about his sister and put on his most convincing smile, until the reality of what was happening finally hit him. “We're having a baby?”

“Yes, darling, isn’t it wonderful? We must prepare celebrations at once. At the Solstice ceremony tonight, we’ll hold blessings and prayers, and then tomorrow, begin planning tournaments and parties, and hold horse races and hunting competitions, and tennis matches, and…”

Arthur let the King ramble on and on as plans began to form in his mind as well. He’d done it, he'd proven the whole world wrong and was well on his way to giving the King what he wanted. Eames was kissing his stomach through his heavy clothes. A surprised laugh burst from Arthur at the sight and soon he found he couldn't stop. 

His laughter doubled upon noticing that Cardinal Stewart was standing near the door beside the guards. He must have walked in with some news for the King and hadn’t had the chance to announce his presence. He stared at the sight before him as if Arthur had transformed into the devil, or as if the King had his head between Arthur’s legs, pleasuring him in front of everyone.

What was better, Arthur knew that in this moment, if he so much as asked, the King would do just that in a heartbeat. What could the King deny Arthur now? But no pleasure in the world could compare to watching the Cardinal storm out of the room without a word.

+

 

The two retired to Arthur's bedchambers after the evening Solstice ceremony had ended.

Arthur panted, gripping Eames' thighs as he rocked up and down in his lap. “You’re sure this won’t…harm the baby…or make me…even more—” He yawned and touched his flat stomach.

Eames laid his hand over Arthur’s, his smiled filled with affection. “No, no. The doctor said I could fuck you like this. Don't worry, my darling.” Eames gripped his hips, helping Arthur grind above him. “I definitely think celebratory fucking ought to become a regular activity for us.” The sight of Arthur straddling him, rocking and bouncing torturously slow, teasing Eames as he lifted the hem of his nightgown higher, showing Eames more skin to touch, it drove him wild. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Arthur’s head fell back as he moaned, feeling Eames suck on his exposed nipple. He opened his eyes when his back touched the bed. Eames held down his arms, kissing him deeply as he pulled out. "No, come back," he whispered, clutching half-heartedly at Eames' chemise.

He chuckled at Arthur’s sleepy whine and hushed him. “You just taste like the sweetest wine,” he whispered, traveling down his stomach. “I need more of you on my tongue first.”

He groaned, hearing Arthur’s soft sighs as he licked the underside of his cock. He dipped lower when Arthur caught his hair in a tight grip that pulled when his tongue slipped inside. He stopped to laugh against Arthur’s thigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think those whispers were prayers instead of filthy swearing. Who taught you to say such dirty things?”

He arched his back, but Eames had his arms pinned down. “You did.”

“Oh, right.” He grinned when Arthur let loose a stream of curses again. “They sound lovely in your language. Will you teach me?”

“Not now.” He yawned. “Just keep doing…what you’re…”

He moaned contently when Arthur’s hands went slack in his hair. He licked over his tickle spot, expecting Arthur to laugh, but when he met with silence, he peeked up. “Are you asleep?” He bit his thigh and was met with soft, faint snores. Eames snorted. “Oh,” he laughed, righting Arthur’s chemise and tucking him in. “Oh, you poor darling.”

+

 

Arthur pulled his cloak and furs more snugly over his shoulders. He suppressed a tired sigh in the sunlit hall and yawned behind his hand.

He was certain now that his body had rejected the werewolf bite. Walking through the palace on his afternoon rounds, he couldn’t smell himself, but the werewolves as far as several doors down the way could. As if his scent was enchanted, they almost knocked into one another as they hurried to him to bow and kiss his ring, taking deep lungfuls of his scent.

Arthur’s brow furrowed as they allowed themselves the privilege of patting his stomach, though only a day had passed since his scent first changed.

He had to cut his walk short and return to his chambers rather than catch himself engulfed by more swarms of nobles.

The Lord Chancellor was waiting for him in Arthur’s study when they arrived.

“Your Grace, forgive me. I didn’t expect to be so held up by the court this morning. I had hoped for the chance to sneak into the King’s kitchen for more of those pastries you sent me, but…I was waylaid, it seemed, by everyone in Engston.” He dropped into his chair with another yawn.

“Not used to the attention?” Yusuf smiled.

“Not used to so many hands reaching for my middle.” He yawned again. “I almost miss being invisible. In Duval, you’re seen as divine to have a drop of royal blood in you. Not here.”

The Duke chuckled. “Ah yes, that’s one thing I’ve never gotten used to with the Engston culture. Everyone is so…”

“Touchy?”

Yusuf nodded. “I was going to say self-entitled, but yes, that too. They consider their access to you and his Majesty’s person to be a birthright, granted to them by the very hands of god, although you’re far more accommodating than King Eames. The last time someone coughed in his vicinity, it…wasn’t pretty.” Yusuf glanced at his knees bashfully and shrugged. “And, you _do_ have a wonderful scent, if I may say. You always did, but more so now. Like…freshly baked bread and brewed red leaf coffee after a holy fast, or seeing a loved one after a long time apart,” he mused. “It’s euphoric.”

Arthur muttered, “Sophie doesn’t think so. We were once so close, she would cry if my attendants wouldn’t let her into my bathtub. Now, she won’t come near me.” He cleared his throat, surprised that he was still choked up about it. “She enjoys Lady Gretchford’s attention, so I’m at least glad that she has someone to tend to her.”

“Worry not, your Majesty. I remember before my boy died, my late wife’s cats shunned her all while she carried him, as if she’d somehow betrayed them. Well, after our son was born, she and I could hardly spend time with him alone. The cats had decided at once that our son was theirs.” He smiled sadly. “One even bit my finger when I reached into his crib.”

Arthur returned his smile. “Would you ever marry again, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Yusuf ducked a little, blushing. “I have thought about it, although now that you’re with child, every lady in court wishes to be as well, and I’m much too old for raising toddlers.”

He hummed after yawning behind his hand and played with the hem of his tunic when he spoke. “Lady Catherine is considering remarrying as well, perhaps at the same pace as you… In a few years, I feel she may ask to retire from court for a more peaceful, private life, but no one ought to do so alone, don’t you agree?”

Yusuf’s blush deepened. “That’s true. Lady Catherine is quite a wonderful lady.”

“And an excellent cook as well, if you ask her very nicely,” he said in as neutral a tone as he could muster. “I hear that Cardinal Stewart left for my father’s country this morning?”

“Yes, yes, indeed. An unscheduled meeting with the Holy Council in Duval, but the King has sent a messenger after him to tell him your good news.” He smiled fondly.

Arthur hummed noncommittally before speaking again, hiding his smirk. “Cardinal Bryant did not go with him?”

“That’s true. In fact, Bryant had no inclination that such a meeting had been called.” Yusuf leaned in close. “I think it must be some secret gathering, perhaps a high profile exorcist or something.”

“On Cardinal Stewart?”

Yusuf choked on his wine and tried to cover his surprised laugh. “With the temper that man has, perhaps, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Well, I certainly hope his trip is promising, and I can’t wait to have his blessing the moment he returns.”

Yusuf watched him yawn. “Overdue for a nap, Majesty?”

“No,” it happened again, “I hardly ever, especially not so soon after waking late this morning.” He propped his head on his hand. “Anyways, the reason that I asked you here was to discuss a few ideas I had for the palace in the coming new year. I’ve heard many great things about the artists commissioned in the city to paint portraits. Even the man employed regularly by my husband is quite magnificent.” He rubbed his eyes. “Is there money enough for murals on the ceilings and walls of the guest chambers and the royal court halls?”

“Similar to the King’s chambers? Certainly. If there is money enough for wars, there’s money for art as well.”

“Good, good.” He blinked but had difficulty opening his eyes. He could feel himself drifting off and could do little to stop it.

“Majesty?”

He stretched and sat up higher in his chair. “Also, for his Majesty, who is as fond of gardens as I am, I would like to commission the landscapers from Milecomté to liven up the gardens before springtime. And there was one other thing… If you could assist me in writing a proposal for readily available recreation for the peasantry.” He rubbed his eyes again. “For the next festival, I would like to invite the mothers and children to the palace to see the plays and receive small tokens from myself and his Majesty. And for the King’s upcoming tournaments and games, if local archers or jousters could compete as well…” His words were halted by yet another deep yawn.

“Well, your Majesty,” Yusuf frowned, leaning forward again to see if Arthur was still awake, “there are many factors to consider first. Namely security for you and his Majesty, then making sure that there’s room enough to accommodate them, although we _could_ hold preliminary competitions so that only the best and brightest are here for the real games. But as for the children, I think that’s a marvelous plan and don't see why we can’t implement it in due time for… Majesty? Your Majesty?” He reached over to tap Arthur’s hand.

He stood quickly, feeling Arthur’s forehead. “Lady Catherine,” he called, worried when Arthur refused to wake.

The attendants rushed in at once. Lady Catherine quickly went to work, feeling his forehead and neck. She ordered Ariadne and Rose to loosen the rigid bodice under his tunic before she pinched Arthur’s nose until he coughed.

“Oh dear god. Should I send for his Majesty?” Yusuf was already prepared to call the guard, dreading what such a message would mean in the King’s ears.

She held out her hand to comfort the elder werewolf. “That won’t be necessary, my Lord. Arthur has simply begun his resting, although, I would have much preferred for him to be in his bed when this happened.”

“It’s not fever? You are certain, good Madam?”

“No, my Lord, it’s perfectly natural,” she explained, after calling the grooms to help carry Arthur to bed. “At this very critical beginning stage in the pregnancy, omegas sleep to prevent over-exertion and to focus all power in preparing his womb to be the optimum environment for growing a safe and healthy child.”

“Good,” he sighed. “I’m glad to hear. Shall I return later this evening, then?”

“Well, according to the records, resting may last several weeks. It will wax and wan through the day to ensure that he eats, of course, but he will be in no condition for meetings until it has passed, your Grace. If you could alert his Majesty of this, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Yusuf’s initial wish to court Lady Catherine diminished at once upon being taxed with such a request.

 

Eames would not listen to any explanation of omega resting from anyone’s lips until he was present to see for himself. The soldiers were left with his pack to train them, his bath and afternoon meal entirely forgotten, his secretaries all scared and threatened not to open their mouths or get in his way, all as he stomped from the field straight into Arthur’s bedroom.

He looked ready to kill everyone in the room, including Yusuf, and even the child if it would make his mate truly ill. “It is _not_ fever?” he asked for the tenth time, even though he could smell and feel that Arthur was fine.

Lady Catherine assured him patiently as the attendants hovered. “No, Majesty. This is perfectly in accordance to a healthy progression.”

He felt ridiculous. Not because of his agitation, but because he’d eaten breakfast with Arthur this morning, and while the omega was still right here, right under his nose sleeping peacefully, Eames missed him terribly. Weeks, Lady Catherine had said. Weeks without hearing his voice or seeing him smile. It would have been easier for the sun to have disappeared instead. At least then, he would still have those slender hands holding his during mass, those dimpled cheeks, his rich lilted voice, and even Arthur's testy glares. He wanted to see him blush or laugh or make Eames feel stupid for still not knowing how to operate the sextant in the observatory, when in truth, he only feigned ignorance for Arthur's attention. 

It ate at his heart that Arthur wouldn’t wake or stir at all for several hours more, until Lady Catherine managed to rouse him enough to swallow milk and a bowl of porridge Eames didn’t consider to be big enough now that he would be eating for two.

In the end, he required no convincing before agreeing to Yusuf’s suggestion that their offices be moved to Arthur’s study and parlor for the time being. If Yusuf could have had Eames’ worktable moved right next to Arthur’s bed, he would have said yes to that too, in a heartbeat.

+

 

Eames sat at the large table in Arthur’s study, scratching his stubble as he read through proposals and research. He heard whispering from Arthur’s room, as he always had in the weeks that had passed, but something was different.

“How long have I been out?” he heard Arthur rasp and immediately raced from his desk into the bedroom, hardly giving Arthur’s attendants room to bow and step aside for him.

He’d never thought anyone with chapped lips and their cheek covered in drool, their hair wild and tangled, could ever look so beautiful, but his Arthur frowned at his stomach and poked it, his brow raising to find the faintest whisper of a bump. He blinked up at Eames with a groggy, confused expression and it tore Eames' heart to bits.

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Arthur up to sit, and drew him into a tight hug. “Darling.”

Arthur groaned, gripping his shoulders and clutching at his chain of office. “Eames, no. I have—”

“I know, my darling, I’ve missed you too, I’ve—” Arthur threw up all over his shoulder and back. “Oh, that’s what you’d wanted to tell me,” he grumbled flatly, lamenting the loss of his favorite furs and doublet. He let Arthur lie back down and watched as he proceeded to gag and ruin the pillow beside him as well.

"Fuck," was all Arthur managed to groan before curling into an unhappy ball and drifting back to sleep. The attendants hesitated.

“Your Majesty,” Ariadne tried, a handkerchief in her hand, “if you would…like to…for the sick.” She grimaced.

All around him were horrified, pale faces, ready for him to fly into a rage. Eames snorted. “It’s gone inside my clothes now, so I will just go have a bath.” He walked stiffly to the door. “But do send for me, if he wakes again.”

 

Eames paced in the parlor, growling as yet another platter of food was sent from Arthur’s room. He could hear his mate getting sick again from what little Arthur had eaten.

He pinched the bridge of nose, unable to focus to Yusuf’s report. When the chefs returned with soup that was quickly sent back as well, Eames snapped. “How the hell do you expect for him to nourish both himself _and_ the child if you keep sending him inedible rubbish? I swear I will kill the lot of you!”

The head cook stuttered and turned to his servants with a pale face. “Send for more of the pastries from yesterday.”

“ _Pastries_?” Eames baulked. “Can an alpha child truly grow solid muscle and maintain good health on sugar and dough, Mr. Treelock?”

“You’re right, your Majesty, forgive me.” He bowed low and snuck away to the attendants still patting Arthur’s brow. “Lady Catherine,” the man whispered, peeking over his shoulder at the King. “Help me. Please.”

Her recipe for zabaglione with strawberries worked wonders. Eames sat at the table with Yusuf, finally able to relax, as the servants walked into Arthur’s bedroom with a full plate three times in a row and left each time with empty trays.

Yusuf paused his rambling about tax rises when Arthur crept from his room in his robe and planted a kiss on Eames’ forehead. He smiled seeing the two together.

“Your Majesty,” Arthur spoke in a low, exhausted voice as Eames kissed his rounding belly. His hands on his hips was endearing as he irritably glared down at his husband. “You have to stop yelling and threatening everyone. Even I don't know what to do with me, so give them time to figure it out. They're trying their hardest. Don't be a bully.”

The King’s loving smile didn’t falter. “I know,” he muttered into Arthur's nightgown. “I just want you to be happy and comfortable. Both of you."

“I’ll be happy in seven months. And the little one is still as big a fist, perhaps.” He frowned when Eames scented his stomach, not listening. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?” He glanced at the Lord Chancellor.

Yusuf covered his smirk. “I’ve honestly never seen him like this, your Majesty,” he whispered.

“I can still hear you, your Grace,” Eames grumbled. He looked up at Arthur with worry, his face still pressed to his stomach. “Your heart is beating faster.” He stood quickly and pulled over a chair, making Arthur sit. “Are you alright, darling?”

He yawned and swatted away his hands. “I’m fine, but please get some sleep yourself. You’re getting skinny. And hairy.”

“He’s right, your Majesty,” Yusuf spoke. He gathered his books and ledger. “It’s getting late in the evening. We’ll finish these in the morning.” He smiled. “Good night, Majesties.”

When Yusuf left, Arthur blushed at the King's lustful stare. "You're very excited, your Majesty."

"Of course I am! I've been waiting weeks for this! You know we aren't going to sleep at all tonight, correct?"

"Oh Eames, I'll vomit on you again if you try to put that prick anywhere near me."

+

 

As the days passed, Eames hardly got a day's worth of work completed now that Arthur wasn't sleeping as much.

When he arrived from his bath in his own chambers, Arthur was in bed reading one of Eames’ books on roots and herbs. He had to pause in the doorway as the attendants blew out a few of the candles and cleared the room. Just to look at Arthur with his furrowed brow and pout, concentrating on the text and tracing the illustrations with his fingers, Eames was in heaven.

To turn the pages, Arthur had to lift the book up his folded legs to keep the paper from catching on his little mound.

“You’re right, Eames,” Arthur mused when they were alone, “this is incredibly boring.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “So that frown isn’t from intense interest, but of a failed attempt to read big words perhaps?”

He blushed. “Funny.”

Eames sat with his legs crossed in front of Arthur, leaning over the book to see how far he’d gotten. “I think I ought to redo these collections. There’s just no reason why I put a pumpkin in the same book as fairy root and amethyst thorns.”

Arthur glanced up with an incredulous air as Eames moved closer between his legs. “You can read upside down?”

“Of course.” He shrugged.

Arthur’s brow rose playfully as Eames read the current page. “Hm. That’s pretty impressive. I can barely read this scribble myself.”

“Oh stop, my handwriting’s not that bad. Yusuf once concocted a mean brew from mixing these two herds in a tea. I swear I saw double for days, but the buzz was divine.” He laughed with Arthur. “I still have an empty slot for the somnacin poppy. I can’t wait to get my hands on it.”

Arthur paused his reading, his smile a little flat when he glanced back at Eames. “Well…I’m sure…I could ask my sister to send some, for you.” His hands gripped the hard covers of the book, his eyes focused on the pictures, trying not to meet Eames’ eyes.

But Eames was too busy lifting Arthur’s nightgown. He placed Arthur’s leg over his shoulder. “Has she written you recently?” he asked, kissing a trail along Arthur knee and calf.

Arthur kept his eyes lowered to avoid glaring, unsure of the game Eames was playing. He shrugged. “She hasn’t written at all, actually. I have written her often though. Do you think perhaps she isn’t receiving my letters?” He gripped the book’s edges harder when Eames hummed noncommittally and nipped at the sensitive skin under his knee.

He didn’t feel as secure as he’d been before going down this road. Eames didn’t dance around like this, especially when it came to something so important.

Arthur swallowed, as Eames still had nothing more to say. “But, no,” he continued, “she would have written anyways. Not hearing from me would worry her.” His heart quickened as Eames began to carefully finger him open. He hadn’t felt so hot in a small eternity and hated that his husband would pick now to bring out a small moan from his lips. He closed his eyes to stay focused. “Eames—”

“You’re not getting any of her letters,” Eames responded at last in a low rumble against his thigh. “That’s final, Arthur.”

Arthur was momentarily cowed by his husband’s stare. Eames wasn’t angry with Arthur, he knew, but he wasn’t amused either. Arthur swallowed, unable to stop the blush on his cheeks when Eames added a third finger. He closed the book and set it aside, but he wouldn’t allow Eames to mount or lift him into his lap.

Eames sighed irritably. “Arthur, trust me. I love you and I know how much you love your sister, and it does pain me to say this, but she is not the same woman you knew before.”

“I don’t believe that. I want my letters, husband. You have no right to keep them from me.”

“Oh, I don’t?” His brow rose in disbelief. “Well, well, my sweet little omega. Tell me, then, since you are now my master, when her potions bewitch my ambassadors, I don’t have a right to—”

“There’s no way she would do that.” He bit his tongue when Eames growled.

“I know her potion signature,” he answered flatly.

Arthur shook his head. “Eames—”

“Arthur,” he rumbled, and tapped his own nose as he stressed again, “I know her potion signature. And when her messenger fell ill after breaking her letter seal, you dare tell me I don’t have the right? I don’t have the right to stop her from trying to curse you? Or, god forbid, worse?”

He wasn’t as certain when he shook his head this time. “She curses her seals to all those not intended to receive her letters.” His hands covered his heart, where Mal’s pendant sat on the end of his necklace. “And…I wear her sigil. This can’t be—”

“Were you wearing that when I bit you, when you nearly died?” Knowing Arthur didn’t need to answer that, he went on, “And when I took it off of you, later that night, did you not at last conceive our child?”

Arthur moved farther up the bed to put distance between them. “Eames…I don’t understand.”

His anger deflated sensing his mate’s distress. “Darling, I’m sorry. But it happens. Families are torn by borders, war, and power all the time. I’m sure Paul has told you about Michel’s impending coronation? Well, he too will be looking for lands to expand Duval’s borders once he’s king. I have half a mind to convince him against breaking his alliance with Dominic, so that when I destroy the King of Runes, your brother’s kingdom will be ours as well.”

Eames tried to kiss him but Arthur put his hands out again, and let him go when he moved to leave the bed. “I don’t want anyone’s kingdom, Eames, I want my family.”

Eames stopped redressing when he glanced at Arthur. “They are not your family when they abandon you, Arthur. We have our own family now. It’s only one that matters.”

Arthur watched him leave without another word. He looked down at his hands resting on his hill of a stomach and thumped his head on the headboard in frustration. He turned on his side and was met with the wide vacant space where Eames should have been sleeping and sighed, wondering if he hadn’t tried hard enough, or if he’d tried too much and ruined any chance of seeing his sister again.

+

 

Two more weeks passed. Arthur’s belly continued to swell, and with it came decidedly awkward and ill timed new symptoms. As much as he tried to remain angry and unbending with Eames, more and more he found that the only thing he wanted to do was…bend, in the lewdest sense of the word. What was worse, his omega sex took over his brain and made it increasingly difficult to be anything other than blissful and content and _horny_.

They sat in silence in his bedroom. He watched Eames read peacefully and scribble notes into the margins of his book. All he could do was fight the urge to tear his clothes off and sit on his face—or at the very least, Arthur wanted the power to ignore how uncomfortable his chest was. His agonizingly over-sensitive nipples needed attention, but he wouldn’t touch them himself, not in his husband’s presence, not with his chest getting softer and fuller. Moreover, he was one hundred percent certain that he was wet beyond belief under his own book.

He and Eames sighed heavily in unison.

Eames slammed his book closed and tossed it over the side of the bed. “I want to fuck you. I can't stand to be around you when you're glowing and your hair looks as soft as silk and your skin so flushed and I can't touch you.” His eyes were golden when he breathed in more of Arthur’s scent. “Either send me away, or…”

Arthur closed his book and set it aside. “Will you at least allow Paul to exchange one correspondence between Mal and I? Just one. About her baby.” He reached across the gap between them to hold Eames’ hand. He rubbed his stomach, pleased when Eames’ eyes drifted to watch his petting. Arthur could see it in Eames’ eyes. He wanted to touch Arthur's stomach so badly, he nearly whined like a puppy when his glare met Arthur's imploring gaze.

Eames’ jaw clenched and unclenched as he thought. “Fine. _One_. Then no more. Now get over here and let your husband see you.”

 

Arthur blushed, embarrassed by the desperate moans that passed his lips when Eames dutifully massaged his tender chest and tortured his nipples. His chemise was torn open and hiked aside as Eames drove up into him hard, but the more he bounced in his lap, the more uncomfortable he became.

He was sure his cock was soft but he couldn’t see past his stomach. “Eames…stop.” It took several tried to get past Eames’ lust fog. “Eames.”

Eames paled and quickly lay him down. “What did I do? What’s happened?”

Arthur chuckled as his husband scented him all over, searching for any hurts he may have caused. “I’m sore already, or something. I don’t know.” He threw his arm over his face. “But it’s terrible in your lap now.”

“I really enjoyed having you straddle me,” he frowned. “But the night’s still young, and…you do taste really, really good.”

“No, no, no. It’s not enough. Damn it, Eames I need… _something_.” He growled in frustration, surprising Eames.

“Well…” the King made a show of playing with the strings on Arthur’s nightgown, his eyes lowered. He shrugged. “There are other things…”

“But we’ve done other things. They don’t feel as good.”

Eames found it hard to suppress the boast just fighting to get out of his mouth. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that there are _other_ -other things, like…”

“Like?”

“I could try fucking this perfect little ass of yours?”

Arthur’s brow rose. He stared at Eames as he felt his husband’s hands travel south to massage his ass. He blushed. His mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words, but Eames had that look in his eyes again. It ignited a new fire in Arthur. “Will it hurt?”

Eames smiled lewdly and shook his head. “It’ll be fun.” He jutted his chin at the pillows. “On your side, love.”

He used Arthur’s slickness to wet his cock and finger him open. He thrilled in the little pleasant sounds Arthur made and how he rocked his hips back into Eames’ deep touch.

“How does it feel, darling? Good?”

“Different,” he breathed. “But…” he moaned upon the third finger and winced, but he spread his legs wider, letting one fall over Eames’ arms.

Eames buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck as he guided his slick cock to his hole. He pushed in slowly with a groan. "You're just perfect anyway I take you, aren't you, Arthur?"

“ _Eames_ ,” he heard Arthur moan in surprise as he was filled.

He chuckled out another groan as he slid further inside, his hips meeting the soft round of his ass. “My god, it’s like I’m taking you for the first time all over again. Are you alright, darling?”

“Oh my god.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smiled and gave an experimental thrust.

“Fuck,” he gasped, clutching the sheets, a blush blooming across his cheeks and ears. 

He was still shaking with a breathy laugh when he took hold of Arthur’s hip. “See? Told you.” He buried his face in Arthur’s hair and listened to his soft panting. His strokes were slow and lazily. He moaned in his shoulder every time Arthur pushed his hips back, but when his little noises didn’t rise above a whispered moan, he knew he had to remedy the situation before Arthur got frustrated again.

“Fuck, Eames. Fuck!” Arthur’s back arched against Eames’ chest, his legs closing of their own accord around Eames’ hand as he worked his fingers into his wetness, doubling his pleasure. Arthur melted into the sheets when Eames’ teeth caught the back of his neck. He growled when Arthur’s nails dug into his thigh and laughed, panting in his curls. Neither of them was going to sleep tonight with this new wonderful game to play. 

+

 

Ariadne hovered during the festival as Eames and Arthur accepted gifts and more praise for the coming baby. As soon as Eames wandered off, she took his seat. “Is everything alright, Arthur?” she asked. “You seem distracted—more that usual.”

Arthur roused from his daydreaming. He laced his fingers over his belly. “Of course, I feel as if I’m drunk on wine always these days.”

She laughed. “I've noticed. Some times, you sound like it too. But you and his Majesty aren’t as joined at the hip these days," she whispered. "Is he still treating you well?”

Arthur intended to say that the King treated him perfectly. In his fog, there wasn’t a care in the world with a happy baby in his belly. As he patted his stomach, however, his mind awoke for a moment. “I miss my sister. Every time I hear from Paul, it breaks my heart. I just… My husband’s word was once a truth, a gospel, to me, but I refuse to believe that my sister or her husband are as terrible as the King claims. I must know for myself what’s happening, but he keeps all information about the war from me. He thinks I’m content being left in the dark.” He frowned, realizing that his hormones were convincing him that he was, in fact, utterly happy in his ignorance.

“What do you plan to do? I could attempt to gather some grain of fact from my husband about the war.”

“No, no. I simply went about this in the wrong way. I should not have ever come to him with my largest grievance first. I have to start small, gradually climb. I have the perfect approach, too, to test these waters again, now that my dearest friend has returned from his travels.” He smirked, cutting his eye at Cardinal Stewart as the man stepped into the hall.

 

Keeping his foot down was far harder a task than Eames had ever thought it would be. He’d let Arthur send Paul away with his letter, and even before Paul could return with Mal’s, Arthur had already asked him for permission to write more. He’d said no, and regretted it, but knew he had to, even if Arthur was upset. He watched his omega smile politely at an elder duke’s attempt to amuse him. Eames longed to be near him.

He almost didn’t hear his doctor approach him. Whatever the man had to say couldn’t be as important as wondering how the Earl of Green could possess the balls to put his hand on Arthur’s stomach.

“Your Majesty,” the doctor tried again.

Eames sighed like a bull. “What?”

The beta dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief, searching for the right words. “Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, this will sound quite unorthodox, but…how long has the Queen been with child?”

Eames’ brow furrowed as he turned to face the man. “Is it not obvious, good doctor?”

“Five months? Good, I was a little worried—”

“No, three and a half.”

The doctor’s face fell. “You are certain, Majesty?”

“I’m always certain.” He glanced at Arthur before grabbing the doctor’s arm and pulling him away from the party.

Outside in the hall, Eames crossed his arms as he made the doctor to explain his concerns.

“Majesty, the Queen’s belly is simply too large to only be three months along. Perhaps there was some delay in his scent change?”

Eames ordered a guard to send for Lady Catherine. Her frown was deep set as she corroborated Eames’ account.

However, the doctor only appeared less assured.

“Is it possible that omegas carry children for a shorter amount of time?” It thrilled Eames to think that their child would come sooner than expected.

“Perhaps, Majesty,” Lady Catherine said, “only, my monitoring of his development does not fit this estimate. All of his symptoms, his milk production, his diet and mood, are all signs of a normal carrying.”

“Oh dear, your Majesty. It is as I’d feared, then.”

“Tell me, doctor,” Eames demanded.

“Forgive me, but if his Majesty, with his small frame, is already showing so greatly for just three months, then complications are unavoidable, your Majesty—” He was slammed into the wall at his back.

Lady Catherine placed her arm in front of the King. “Your Majesty,” she pleaded, “he only wishes to insure your Arthur’s safety, and the child’s.”

Eames snarled and walked away as he tried to rein in his emotions. His claws made his palms bleed in his fists. He was shaking, unable to take a deep calming breath with his chest getting tighter and tighter as his anxiety reached new heights. He wasn’t ignorant; he knew exactly what the doctor’s words meant. Just the thought of losing Arthur made Eames want to shift and rampage through the palace.

All this time, they’d rushed to produce a child, and now that it was happening, Eames’ mind filled with a whole new set of anxieties.

+

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

+

 

Eames had been abandoned by his father when he was only a boy.

In the dead of winter, he had been taken to the very thick of the forest in his sleep and left to find his own way back to Wolfshire. It was his right of passage, from a pup to an alpha worthy of the title of heir presumptive.

He foraged for safe plants and roots to eat until he learned how to bring down a deer. For three days, he'd been trapped in the pit of a cave with a troll and had to fight his way out, but even then, he was in no way prepared for what this alphahood would eventually engender…

Arthur was running through an overgrown forest in the early morning hours. His legs were as strong as wilting flower petals, his clothes torn by reaching branches, but he couldn’t stop. Even as the high roots caught his feet or the limbs tangled in his long, dark curls. Desperate to free himself from his pursuers, he swam across icy rivers and over snow-covered hills, his frail heart pushed to its limits.

In the end, he wasn’t fast enough. The massive grey and tawny wolf’s teeth sank into his tripped ankle. He cried out in pain and unsheathed his long dagger to cut the wolf’s throat, to free himself. Only, there were other, younger wolves now come to feast on his flesh.

Arthur tried to call out again, but the little wolf cubs had his throat, and Eames his heart. 

"No!" Eames gasped for air as he woke in a cold sweat, his mind still lost in the dream. He reached for Arthur in the dim glow of the firelight, his relief immeasurable that he and the child he carried were still safe and peacefully slumbering.

He hated this dream, the only dream his mind could form since receiving the doctor’s warning. He was afraid for their child, he was afraid for Arthur, he was afraid of waking up one morning and them both being gone from him.

He pulled Arthur into his arms and lay awake as the last log burned in the hearth.

+

 

Bees and butterflies zoomed from flower to flower in the Queen’s private garden. The younger attendants chased Sophie around the small pond. Eames lounged with Arthur on pillows under a shaded canopy.

He lay on his back, his head propped on his arms, breathing in the open air. He frowned and cracked a sleepy eye open to glare at Arthur. “Are you laughing at me?”

Arthur glowed in the afternoon sun, wearing one of the many long, ornate gowns his attendants had made for his pregnancy. He covered his mouth, but his shoulders still shook. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Why?”

He smiled, still rubbing his belly. “You’ve grown terrified.”

Eames paled and sat up, wondering how Arthur could have figured out his distress. He'd ordered the doctor and Lady Catherine not to speak a word to Arthur or risk burdening him with this fear and danger, but before he could explain, Arthur laughed again.

“Eames, Majesty, you aren’t as dangerous as you think. You don’t have to be afraid to touch my stomach just because it’s gotten bigger, you know. I only laugh because you clearly want to, but you’re holding back.”

Eames blushed, swallowing his relief that it wasn't what he'd feared down with his wine. But Arthur was right; he was being ridiculous. He cleared his throat before sliding over on the pillows and lied his head on Arthur’s tummy.

“See?” He grinned watching Eames hum contently. “It’s not too bad.”

“You've got a strong boy in your belly. I can scent him now,” Eames whispered. “His head is under your hand.”

Arthur quickly lifted his hand away as if resting there would harm…their son. A boy he could already image looking just like a little Eames, or perhaps a little Arthur _and_ Eames. He blinked, his eyes prickling from the emotion that swept over him like a wave. His mouth opened to speak, but his words stuck in his throat.

Without warning, Eames' eyes turned golden and he howled low against Arthur’s stomach.

Arthur pushed him away, gasping when the baby jolted. “ _Eames_!" He lowered his voice to a hiss when a few of the attendants looked their way. "Don’t do that! He moved.”

“He did? His never done that before. Do you really think he heard me?” He tried to howl again, but Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Do you mean to kill me? What if he shifts and claws a hole in there?”

Eames faltered. He hadn’t thought of that. “That…can’t happen?”

“You don't sound very certain." He eyed his belly warily. He felt a little guilty that chastising Eames felt as good as it did. The King of Engston had never looked so dismayed. Arthur's shoulders sank at the sight. He smiled. “Come here,” he relented at last. "Nothing else has happened. We're safe."

“I almost don’t want to go to the games,” Eames grumbled, his eyes closed, listening to Arthur’s stomach. “I’d rather be here. His little heartbeat is so steady and strong.”

“I’ll be present for the tennis match in the evening, to see you play.”

He lifted his head to look at him, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure? Has your headache lessened? What about the dizziness?”

“I’m fine. I’m actually bored laying around so much, and I miss watching you snap when you lose.”

“But if you’re tired, you can always rest more.”

“No. My nesting isn’t supposed to start for another three months, after which, I’ll be in bed for three more, and then…I suppose he’ll be here, and I’ll be in bed recovering for a month even after that. I want to enjoy what freedom I have left to use my legs and see the spring flowers before they’re gone.”

“I do love the new gardens. They’re magnificent,” he muttered, scenting Arthur’s stomach again.

On the far side of the pond, Ariadne laughed when Sophie sneezed into a patch of tulips.

Arthur glanced down at Eames whose eyes were closed again. Petting his hair, Arthur spoke softly. “I never did thank you for making Lady Gretchford part my household.”

“Of course, darling,” he muttered, trailing his lips over Arthur's navel through his clothes, “only the best must tend to you.”

“I worry about her, though. She’s confided in me and what she’s said greatly distressed me.”

Eames paused his kisses. “What do you mean?”

He thought over his words quickly. “Her husband is your cousin, correct? Now I see why you hate your family. And… Well, he scares me. He’s even rude with her in my presence.”

Eames paused again. “He has no reason to be in your presence, since my pack isn't allowed near your chambers. When did this happen?”

“The other day while you were in a meeting with Cardinal Stewart. I knew he was a scoundrel from what Ariadne's told me, but I still never expected him to growl at me when I asked him to leave my parlor.”

“He _growled_ at you?” He sat up, fuming. “Is he not aware that you are his superior in all matters? Did he forget whose child you’re carrying?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’m only an omega. But I care not for myself. My fear is for Ariadne. After what he did to her…"

"What did he do to her?"

"He never told you?" By the end of Arthur's retelling, his husband was seeing red. "I can’t imagine if it had been me that he’d…” He rubbed his belly, his eyes downcast. He didn’t have to say more when Eames glanced from Arthur’s belly to Ariadne.

He leaned forward and kissed Arthur's cheeks. “He will be dealt with. Worry not, my darling.”

But Arthur frowned. “Forgive me, but I have to wonder, your Majesty, what will happen to Ariadne then? Women are always so disadvantaged, with their dowries and possessions all belonging to their husbands. And when something happens to those husbands, their wives often end up in dire states of poverty, if not quickly married again. I doubt after all Ariadne’s been through that she would want to lay her life in the hands of another man again so soon, if ever." He watched Eames pick an apple from the bowl to eat while he thought over Arthur's words. "We’re lucky, you and I. If we have daughters, they will always have their own households, but what of daughters like Ariadne?” 

After a while, Eames snorted. “What are you saying, my darling? That beta women should have rights to property? Then what would alphas and beta men have? What about their brothers or sons?”

Arthur shrugged innocently. “What do beta women have now? What of the daughters and sisters, your Majesty?”

Eames glanced at him before taking another bite from his apple. “I’ll think it over later. Don’t let this matter distract you anymore, are we clear?”

Arthur feared that his attempt had failed. Silently, it worried him to no end. What if he’d made Ariadne’s situation worse?

He, however, had no idea that the opposite was about to happen. The next morning, King Eames set about crafting proposals for Parliament to amend the property laws, which then led to discussions of education and workforce as word spread. Divisions and new political factions, from within the privy council to as far as even the servants who scrubbed the floors, rose up throughout the kingdom. In the end, the only change was that widowed wives could keep the property they’d shared with their late husbands, which was hardly enough, but it was a decent start.

 

Arthur tried his best not to waddle, but trying to walk in a normal way felt unbalanced and sent pain up his ankles to his knees and settled into his back. He was already out of breath when he and his attendants rounded the corner near the court hall.

Several nobles turned up their noses and stomped off when they saw him approach. To his surprise, he was stopped in his tracks when everyone else greeted him with applause.

Confused, he turned to his attendant Jeremy and whispered, “Have I grown much larger since they last saw me?”

“No, your Majesty—well, yes, _but_ ," the boy smiled, "that’s not the only reason why they adore you. It's not hard to know whose voice the King has opened his ear to. Just be wary of any new friends you gain who may have scorned you before, your Majesty. I know for certain they will wish to shower you with favor in exchange for your influence.” 

+

 

Lord Gretchford only spent three nights in the dungeon. Three days was all it took for the sum of his crimes to have the Engston people rallying for his head on a plate. Even if the werewolf had not been found guilty of rape, the charges for forcing his way into the Queen’s chambers and endangering of the King’s unborn child were both considered treason.

Though it had rained and thundered those three days of trial, the sun returned as he was led out to the town square, kicking and shouting the whole way, until wolfsbane was forced down his throat to prevent him from shifting. His only mercy was that, as the King’s kin, whipping was not required, but his heart was still sent to King Eames and his body burned at the stake.

Arthur was more than a little shaken by what he’d been told of the execution. A part him wondered if he should feel guilty for causing the werewolf’s end, until Ariadne, in her customary mourning clothes, sat on the edge of his bed that night and kissed his cheeks when she tucked him in.

Arthur's smile was sad. "You are your own women now, and have no need for my employment." Though he had no reason to fret, a part of him still expected her to leave as she no longer needed his favor. 

She shook her head and took his hands. “You’ve given me peace and a whole new life, Arthur,” she whispered, in tears. “Thank you. And although my new responsibilities are great and shall be taxing, my first duty is still to you, as your friend. Always.”

+ 

 

Ariadne attended the final race on Arthur’s behalf.

Eames sat docilely, licking his paws every now and then as she attached Arthur’s ribbon to his gold harness. He watched her return to her high perch in the stands. She smelled faintly like Arthur. Eames missed him already.

Lady Catherine had been keeping a close eye on Arthur's progress. Every week, hers and the doctor’s reports were much the same. More worry, more stress for them all to keep hidden from Arthur. His dizziness, his irritability, and shortness of breath grew worse, but Arthur’s mood remained the same.

“It’s the child’s pheromones,” Lady Catherine had explained to Eames one evening, when a spike of pain through Arthur’s abdomen had the omega crying and laughing hysterically at the same time, “and Arthur’s own physiology cloaking the danger from his mind to keep him at peace. This state of bliss, unfortunately, will only last for a month more, your Majesty. That is when we must begin to fear.”

Eames paced in a circle in the grass near his brothers and his pack. For a moment, he wondered if his brothers could sense his worry. He growled at them savagely until they hurried to sit under the shade of a different tree. 

Eames had always tried to be religious. On some deep level, it simply seemed ridiculous to him. If poor men could pray to gods all their lives and still die in poverty, crippled and sick, while an adulterous witch could brand a family with the supernatural power of the wolf, or when a sorceress could blend a potion to quell his rut, then what was a the point of gods?

Some times he envied how dutifully Arthur would pray before his shrine and bless the farmers’ children with little gold coins after mass, always full of faith and grace. Apparently, however, his country’s goddess was no better at caring for her faithful than Eames’ god was to his. And yet, that goddess had given Arthur peace, whereas Eames’ bite had nearly taken him from this world.

He was lost. If neither he nor Arthur’s faith would be able to save him and the child in the end…what was left?

He regretted agreeing to the race. His head wasn’t in it, and he’d never won, anyways. He was the largest wolf, but not always the fastest. He always came in second or third and always had to accept the trophies the real winners gave him out of some unnecessary sense of respect.

Even with his chances slim to none, he still made a wager with himself as they all got into position for the signal at the head of the track. If he could win this race today, he would count it as a good sign. If Arthur’s goddess or Eames’ god were real in some capacity, they would grant him this sign. If not, he had a mind to try the bite a third time.

The flag was waved. Eames took off as fast as he could, but three wolves raced past him and the others. He set his sights on chasing them like they were rabbits in the forest. Around each bend and up every hill and down through ditches and tunnels, he pursued them, his spirits soaring when he overcame the first of the three. The second tripped on a high root and almost took Eames with him as he tumbled, but Eames persisted.

The last wolf was still so far ahead. He was quick and limber and jumped over the creak as if he’d run this track a hundred times. Eames was almost on his tail before realizing that it was his brother about to take the win.

Eames snarled, his claws tearing up the soil as he barreled down on the smaller wolf, his muzzle dripping. They were neck and neck as the crowd cheered the King on. Suddenly, his brother lashed out, snapping his teeth to scare Eames off, but Eames snapped back, catching his brother’s leg. The smaller wolf yelped but didn’t lose his footing, running fast.

Eames, with the taste of fresh blood on his tongue and the smell of his brother’s fear in his nose, ran faster.

The pack stumbled into the hall with Eames on their shoulders after they’d shifted back and redressed. Mead and wine was split on the floor in their rush to celebrate.

“We bid you stay, your Majesty!” the Earl of Green shouted. “Drink with us!”

“No, no, Christopher,” another beta patted him on the back, almost making the Earl fall forward. “There’s no spirits here that can satisfy the King after a victory like that!”

“He’s right, Christopher.” Eames grinned, still high on adrenaline. “The sweetest and strongest of spirits lies solely in the Queen’s cup, and I intend to go drink my full of it this day.”

The hall erupted in cheers and rowdy encouragements as the King hurried off to Arthur’s chambers.

+

 

Arthur lay in his rumpled sheets with Eames, still catching his breath. “Well, your Majesty, you’ve made a mess of me and my bed,” he chided, his voice hoarse, “ _and_ my clothes, _and_ I’m sure your son is now traumatized.”

The small bottle of oil had been spilt everywhere in Eames’ urgency to prep him. Pearls lay scattered in the sheets from where Eames had ripped open the top of Arthur’s gown and chemise. His nipples, his neck, and chest were still wet and bruised from Eames’ hungry mouth. The bottom layers of silk and his chemise had been torn open as well, and were now covered in both Arthur and Eames’ release.

Eames snickered, still caught in the afterglow. “You make it seem as if you and your incredibly fuckable ass weren’t here.”

He had a point. It had been thrilling, in the moment, when Eames had burst into Arthur’s room and ravaged him soundly. Sex on his back hadn’t been as unpleasant as Arthur had expected it would be, until he rolled onto his side afterwards and groaned, his back and hips both protesting. It had been a while since last his husband had taken him. He was sore everywhere. It felt good.

Eames grinned over at him, smug to see Arthur still panting and dazed with his hair wild, his cheeks rosy, and his lips a little kiss swollen. He caressed Arthur’s nipple with his thumb, but moved his hand when Arthur sought to cover his sensitive breast. The side of Arthur’s belly felt warm under his careful touch.

Looking at the King, Arthur was suddenly overcome with shyness. It was unbelievable to him that almost a year had passed. He’d gone from not knowing a single thing about omegas to having a mate that he cared for and whose company he found he deeply enjoyed. 

Everyday, Arthur still had to look at himself in disbelief that there was a child inside him. A child that would be powerful and, like Mal had said so long ago, would rule over this kingdom and protect the realm’s splendor. A little prince, as Eames so often called him, that already seized his love. More so than that, this child cemented Arthur’s place at the King’s side. There was power in Arthur’s own hands now, when a year ago, he had had none.

His hand covered Eames’ as they felt the child kick for the first time.

“He’s showing us his displeasure at our debauchery,” Eames muttered, smiling conspiratorially at Arthur.

“Told you.”

“The little prince will have to forgive me for being so greedy. His mother is like a feast to a starving man. There's simply no help for it.”

Eames’ staring made his blush deeper. He tried to cover himself again with what remained of his clothes.

“Don’t,” Eames whispered, taking his hand. “You’re beautiful. The sight of you nourishes me.” He leaned forward to kiss him softly. His lips danced across his jaw, down his neck to his nipples again.

“Eames, please,” Arthur panted, half-heartedly trying to push him away, but the King held his hand behind his back.

He followed Arthur when he turned, his tongue still torturing the little nubs. He smiled against his chest when Arthur moaned and twisted.

Arthur’s lips were caught again in deep, lazy kisses. “Are we at this sport again? So soon?” he tried to tease, feeling Eames’ hand stroke his hardening cock.

“No, my darling. Just for you.” He stroked harder. “Just to see you come undone again, one last time.”

 

“If all our attendants disappeared tomorrow, we’d be utterly helpless,” Eames laughed, giving up on figuring out how to help Arthur redress.

Arthur shook his head at the sight and opted for a nightgown and his robe until he would be ready to receive his attendants again.

Eames stretched and settled in close beside him again. “What do you plan to do with the rest of your day, my darling?”

Arthur made a show of playing with the robe’s velvet belt. “Well, I was going to visit Cardinal Stewart, but I’m overdue for my nap, and that man has become so hard to catch up with.”

Eames huffed. “You once asked me to give you an example of what an understatement was. That, darling, was an understatement.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You know, your Majesty, you are the one to blame for it. You’ve certainly burdened him with a great deal of responsibilities. I remember when we were planning the Winter Solstice festival together he was always late and always, always distracted by other things. Cardinal Bryant must be somewhat envious—albeit bored that he has so little assignments while Cardinal Stewart has so many.”

Eames hummed. “I hadn’t considered that before. Well, Bryant isn't as well-versed in stately matters as Stewart, and likes to live more privately, but I can see what you mean.”

Arthur smiled. “I know for a fact—and I most certainly know he will deny this out of courtesy and respect for you—that he would appreciate it greatly if some of his responsibilities were taken off of his weary shoulders, especially now that he’s getting up in age, of course. I think that if Cardinal Bryant were to replace Stewart as your personal chaplain, that could keep Bryant busier and Stewart less so.”

Eames wrinkled his nose. “Bryant has always come across to me as a little dull. Do you enjoy him as your privy chaplain?”

“Very much so. His only ambition is to encourage my soul’s growth, to make the right decisions for myself, which we’re still working on, and to stay on a honest path. In my life, most people have always played my youth against me. His neutrality is extremely refreshing.”

“I can imagine. Although Cardinal Stewart has served me well, at times he can be a little biased and get carried away in his own personal objectives. You know, Stewart was first my father’s Lord Chancellor, and when I appointed Yusuf, I split their duties, so Yusuf wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his lack of experience. Granted,” he mused, “that was nearly a decade ago. No reason now not to grant Yusuf his full responsibilities. He has a natural talent for matters of state. I often find myself envious. My father and grandfather were both fierce in battle as well as law.” He smiled. “I’ve let Stewart and Yusuf spoil me, truth be told. I’ve been allowed to be a brat without reproach,” he muttered, glancing at Arthur, “which, I now realize, is yet another stellar example of an understatement.”

“Don’t feel too bad about that,” Arthur yawned. “In a sense, I’ve very fortunate to have been an omega, because if every one of my siblings were to die tomorrow, Holy Mother forbid, I would be completely inept as a King.”

“That’s not true. Yusuf has told me about your proposals for public recreation. They’re marvelous. And if another kingdom should try to invade, just drop that giant sextant on the King’s head. All your problems would solved,” he teased.

Arthur ignored the blush creeping into his cheeks. “That reminds me, I need to restore the ink for my printing press.”

“Should I be concerned that you’ve never let me see what it is you and your attendants have been dong with that thing?” He shook his head when Arthur didn’t budge. “I think Cardinal Stewart was more than a little jealous when Yusuf gifted you his, though Stewart would never have the time to use it like you do. Not yet, at least.”

Arthur felt more than a little proud of himself. He adored Yusuf even more now. “Cardinal Bryant is soon to take his yearly pilgrimage to the Holy City. From what I can suppose, Cardinal Stewart has always wanted to accompany him. I’m sure he’s in need of a real holiday.”

“He’s never said a word to me. I would have given him leave to go.”

“Well, of course not, your Majesty. I doubt if he would ever ask. You would have to order him, for his conscience to be cleared.”

 

Arthur’s smile was smug at the play held in the King’s garden that night. Everyone was near tears watching King Eames’ acting debut as the comedy unfolded. With natural talent, he starred as the valiant knight come to outsmart the king to steal the princess. 

“Your Highness,” Arthur heard the familiar voice mutter next to his ear. Cardinal Stewart leaned in close behind his chair.

His smile brightened when he turned to him. “Your Eminence,” he greeted quietly, mindful not to disturb the play. He reached behind him to give the Cardinal his hand, pleased when the beta begrudgingly kissed his ring. “What do you think of the new gardens?”

He smiled before leaning in closer to Arthur’s ear. “You’ve had me demoted from several of my positions, and carted off with that old fool, Bryant, until the winter. Very clever.”

Arthur turned around more, as far as his belly would allow. He frowned and touched the Cardinal’s hand where it lay on his chair arm. “Your Eminence, forgive me, but I don’t understand how this has anything to do with me. My only business is with satisfying my husband, as you once advised me, which I am very grateful for having listened to your council,” he whispered with a practiced air of sincerity. “I know nothing of how governments work, you see. So, you must tell me, what exactly is it that you do?”

“Very funny, you little whelp.”

“Your Eminence, please, my husband will be extremely unhappy if I miss any more of his performance, but do enjoy your trip with Cardinal Bryant. I look forward to seeing you return in the winter.”

“Why, so you can play more of your tricks on me?”

Arthur blinked, and smiled at him sweetly.

+

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! ANOTHER UPDATE! :D

+

 

“You know, Lady Catherine,” Arthur panted while she and his attendants helped him walk down the stairs, “I remember a time when I ran these stairs two at a time to reach Mal. Now I can’t even see my feet.”

“I remember it well, Majesty. If you remember also, it was I who kept up with you the best out of all who chased you,” she chuckled. “After all these years, I’ve still got it.”

He had to stop moving in order to laugh with her. He secretly prayed that he wasn’t peeing a little again and tried to settle himself, only to laugh again. “I feel as though the cooks have been sneaking spirits into my soups and milk, Madam. I feel a little drunk always. And though I despise grapes, I still find myself missing wine.”

“You must try not to be tempted, young master,” she cautioned. “Wine only makes children in the womb ill-tempered, and we mustn’t have that.”

“Definitely not. The last thing I need today is for his Majesty’s little titan to kick a hole in my stomach on my birthday.”

The royal court was filled with happy faces and cheers when Arthur arrived. He wanted to laugh again. He wanted to laugh every time a noble bowed or kissed his hand that’d once pretended that Arthur didn’t exist. He was more than a little certain a few of these new friends had no doubt conjured more rumors about him. Perhaps they figured the child wasn’t the King’s or that Arthur was a witch or something. He burst into a fit of laughter again, to which the nobles all smiled and chuckled as if they were all in on the joke.

They murmured their approval of his golden olive wreath crown and his pale blue silk as they cleared the way for him to join the King.

Arthur noticed at once that only one wolf sat near Eames, the other missing from its usual place at the smaller wolf’s side. The wolf was watching Eames with a stare that only wavered when the wolf felt Arthur’s eyes on him.

Eames helped him into his chair and kissed his cheek. Arthur rolled his ankles under his long gown, trying to ease their soreness.

“Where is your brother?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He felt guilty when Eames’ smile faltered. “Sorry.”

Eames only had to show him the angry red, healing gash of teeth marks on his hand for an answer. “You look lovely as always, my darling.”

He followed his husband’s lead. “You as well, although, your Majesty, you could stand to have this trimmed,” he observed, touching Eames’ beard.

He laughed. “I’m bored with these people already, truth be told. I hate parties like this.”

“Well, good thing this party isn’t for you, then.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be in the observatory with your scheming attendants, toiling away with that secret project on the printing press?” He smirked. “I thought so.”

“Even though that’s true, I haven’t be able to get up all those stairs in weeks,” he frowned, looking sleepy, “and I have to show my face at court every once in a while, or else they’ll keep trying to visit me in my rooms.”

“Quick, kiss me, they're all staring at us.”

He rolled his eyes and had to lift up from the chair and lean over and then reposition himself in his chair when he drew back. “They haven’t stopped.” He crossed his arms over his belly and teased, “And you call me and my attendants scheming. At least our plans work.”

“Is that so? And where is your proof?”

Arthur sighed, his arms still resting over his mountain. He called over Jeremy and whispered in his ear. He turned back to Eames to a smirk. “Well, your Majesty, we had hoped to wait until your own birthday next month, but if you must be pushy, I’m sending for it now.”

Eames’ mouth fell open. “That’s not fair. I haven’t given you your gifts yet and already I shall have mine? Unacceptable.” He waved his hand to stop the music and dance.

The first servants brought in furs and fabrics for new clothes, the second, an ornate locket with the King’s picture inside.

The third servant brought in a horse’s saddle on a plush pillow. At first, Arthur paid it little mind, before remembering Eames’ promise to go child-stealing with him so long ago. The crowd of onlookers watched Arthur crack up, seemingly for no reason.

“Sometimes,” Arthur muttered to himself in his own language so that no one else could understand, “I fear for your sanity, husband.”

Eames laughed heartily as well, making Arthur smile that he’d been learning it all this time.

The last gift confused Arthur. It was a huge, iron key placed on a pillow beside a sealed scroll. He glanced at Eames but was given no explanation, only an encouragement to open to the parchment.

“Blueprints, your Majesty? For…” He looked at the map more closely this time. It took his addled brain a long time to understand. “Majesty, this is…”

“The observatory for the city, yes. I drew this plan myself, based on all you’ve taught me.”

As the nobles all applauded, Lady Rose stepped to the side and bowed. “Your Majesty, it’s here.”

Eames smiled brighter, looking at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur was still fighting back tears from Eames’ gifts. He blinked them back and cleared his throat. “Jeremy?”

The boy came forward with a large book on a pillow and knelt before the King.

Eames sat forward, curious about the book’s significance, until he read the title. He gripped Arthur’s hand and gawked before remembering that people were watching. “You’ve had my book printed and bound?”

“Only just this one for now, your Majesty. And yes, your pumpkin entry will be moved to the right book in due time.” He beamed. “You see, Lady Rose’s husband has a penmanship similar to yours, therefore she was able to translate your more…enthusiastic scribbling,” he muttered, his words slurring a little.

Eames ordered the music to resume and fore the people to continue their dances as he sank into his chair and flipped through page after page, marveling over this detail and that. “Even the illustrations?”

He blushed. “Well, to be honest, I had Jeremy copy those by hand, as we haven’t figured out how to recreate pictures with the press yet.” He played with his new locket while he watched the King get lost in his reading. “I was thinking, with your permission of course, that these books could be very important to hunters and farmers, or even to soldiers while on campaign, husband. With the printing press, we could make several copies and put them in your library.”

Eames gave him a flat look. “Darling, if even my own mate thinks my personal study is boring, no doubt everyone else will too. But…” he pondered, “then again, I could make more condensed versions, like little pocket books and such.”

“That would be wonderful.” And much easier to copy, Arthur assumed with relief.

Eames itched to take the book with him when they ate dinner with the party in another hall. Arthur hid his smile as he watched the werewolf put on a decent front and exchange polite banter with the guests closest to them.

Arthur finished devouring both his and Eames’ slices of cake and returned to playing with his locket.

“Are you ready to leave?” Eames whispered.

He laughed. “So that you may obsess over your own book again?”

“That, and because you’re overdue for a, um,” he cleared his throat and whispered the rest into Arthur’s ear, “a full body massage. I mean you must be tired, right? And in need of affection, yes?” He gave him his most charming smile.

A new wave of bliss washed over him. He was lost for a little while staring at Eames. “Yes, husband, we can go, but… Would it be odd for me to have the rest of the cake sent to my rooms?” He blushed, eying Yusuf’s large, half eaten slice next to Eames and then cut his eye at the platter holding the untouched slices. 

Eames chuckled, tucking one of Arthur’s curls behind his ear. “You're the Queen of Engston and it’s your birthday. You can have whatever you want.”

Everyone stood when Eames got to his feet. Arthur was a little slower to rise, but as soon as he did, he tilted sideways.

He blinked and found himself sitting again with worried, pale faces all around and Lady Catherine fanning his face. He looked to Eames for answers, but the King was nearly ghost white with fear as well.

Arthur laughed and reached for Eames' hand. “Perhaps I'm a bit heavier than I thought. Will you help me try again?”

The nobles all held their breath as Eames took Arthur’s arm.

Arthur couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. He felt fine, giddy even, but as soon as he was on his feet again, the only thing he saw was black and all he heard was a hall filled with gasps as he fainted again.

 

“Leave us, please,” Arthur sighed to his attendants and the doctor when Eames wouldn’t stop fretting. He turned to lay on his side in his sea of pillows. “Eames, I swear, I’m fine. I just…got dizzy again.” He shrugged. “It’s happened before. I’m more embarrassed than anything, now that my wits have returned. Come sit with me?”

He didn’t expect Eames to swoop into the bed and cling to him, his arms circling Arthur as if he could disappear at any minute.

“You’ve been dizzy before, but never fainted. You scared everyone.”

Arthur tried to turn around so he could see Eames’ face. “Has my scent changed again? Or the baby’s?” Cold panic swept through him suddenly.

Eames moved around him quickly to kiss his face, sensing his distress. “No, no, no. Everything’s fine.”

He watched Arthur close his eyes, calming himself with deep lungfuls of Eames’ scent. Eames frowned. In truth, everything _was_ fine. Their scents hadn’t changed. But that didn’t quell his fears, or the doctor’s, or Lady Catherine’s and the attendants'. 

+

 

Something was wrong, but Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it. The way the King’s doctor hovered near his chambers, the silences that gripped his attendants whenever he winced at his back pain…he didn’t think any of it was funny anymore. Eames was the worst. His scent and his touches had always been pleasant, but now, simply hearing Eames’ voice irritated Arthur to no end.

“How are you feeling?” Eames would ask during their meals, touching and scenting Arthur’s stomach and hair for the hundredth time.

“A little trampled, but well, considering how much he moves,” he would answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Very much so.”

And then a few minutes later, “How are you feeling, Arthur?”

He snapped one morning. Had he been anyone else, the King would have had his heart for breakfast, but Arthur didn’t care. He hated Eames’ cloistering, his presence, this palace, the entire world, particularly the baby.

“Will you not stop bruising my insides?” he growled at his stomach in the middle of the chapel service. Heads turned to look his way, but no one said anything, not even the high priests whose chants had been interrupted.

Then one day, the baby kicked especially hard and Arthur found himself collapsed again.

He was more upset with himself now. He’d wanted to prove to everyone that he didn’t need to be confined to his bed so soon, but even waking up on the floor had terrified him to tears. Only when the baby moved again to get more comfortable did Arthur’s fears subside.

When Lady Catherine demanded he stay in bed at all cost until the very end, he didn’t argue this time.

+

 

Arthur was ready to curse whoever had dared to wake him the next morning. He’s slept uncomfortably and alone the way he always did during the full moons when Eames went into the forest with his pack. He’d tossed and turned in his bed all night. His battle for sleep had been won at dawn, not enough time to rest at all.

Therefore, nothing on earth could have been more important that remaining asleep, but someone was making that impossible.

He cracked open his eyes when that insistent hand shook his shoulder again. It was Jeremy. His hand was covering Arthur’s mouth.

“Majesty,” Jeremy mouthed, “don’t panic, but you have to leave the room with me at once, as quietly as you can.”

Arthur was livid, but Jeremy refused to move his hand.

“Please, Majesty, I beg you. We must go where it’s safe. Quietly.”

He’d never seen the boy so terrified, and when he sat up, he could see that a few of the other attendants were hovering in the doorway to the study, looking equally afraid.

As soon as Arthur’s foot touched the carpet, a low growl rattled from near the parlor door at Arthur’s back.

Jeremy froze, his eyes just over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur filled his lungs with air and silently took Jeremy’s hand, reaching for his little sheathed dagger on the bedside table. He took a chance, needing to see what beast had found its way into his bedroom before he could stomach ordering the boy to go attack it.

He frowned, studying the creature. He couldn’t place its scent, but knew that it was a giant wolf slumbering on his floor, blocking the way to the parlor. It baffled him, that a beast would not simply eat him instead of opting for a nap. He clutched the blade and swallowed the ball of nerves stuck in his throat. To everyone’s great horror, he cleared his throat loudly to get the wolf's attention.

The beast woke with a start, snapping its teeth reflexively, anticipating an attack that didn’t happen. It yawned and shook its fur a little, splattering the floor around it with black mud, revealing reddish brown fur under its neck. The wolf didn’t look as menacing at all with his head down, looking a little embarrassed that he’d been caught sleeping on the job.

Arthur’s shoulders sank and he laughed. “Jeremy, will you make sure I didn’t piss myself, please? Oh, Eames,” he chided, waddling over carefully to the massive werewolf still dwarfing the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Your Majesty, please,” Lady Marisol whispered. “This isn’t safe.”

He smiled. This wasn’t anything like the werewolf who’d destroyed the guest room doors and attacked a swarm of guards in a fit of rut. Eames lied back down on the floor, bowing his head. He was covered in mud, and possibly old blood from whatever beast his pack had hunted, making his fur much darker and his scent muddled.

Jeremy helped Arthur sit in a chair before fetching the bowl of water and towels Arthur asked for.

Eames slunk over to his feet, trying to be as unimposing as possible. “You left your pack to guard my door?” Arthur shook his head. “You didn’t hurt my real guards, did you?”

Eames shook his head and neck, dirtying Arthur’s robe and nightgown. He watched Arthur with eerily lucid yellow eyes and sniffed at his belly, licking it gently, as Arthur cleaned his face.

Bit by bit the mud was washed away, allowing Arthur to scent him better. He was surprised when a strange feeling settled in his stomach. It was a ball of worry and concern that didn’t belong to Arthur.

“Eames, it’s very sweet that you cut your hunt short to sleep in my room, but you frightened everyone and I still don’t want to think about the guards you attacked.”

 _They’re safe, like you_.

Arthur paused, meeting Eames’ stare. “So…you didn’t want a bath before? You could have fit on the bed with me,” he teased. “At least…maybe your top half could have fit on the bed. No need for a fire that way.”

 _Not safe._ Eames brushed his nose against Arthur’s belly again before he planted whatever he could fit of his head on Arthur’s knees, rubbing more mud on his clothes. Suddenly his ears perked up. He listened with his head tilted for moment before he sniffed Arthur again and took off through the parlor, leaving a trail of mud in his wake just in time for Lady Catherine to walk in past the attendants from the study entrance.

Everyone was silent, as if they’d allowed the dog in the house when their mother had specifically order them not to. She walked around the room slowly, trying to process what had happened here.

The attendants kept their heads down. Jeremy sneaked around her to stand with the others, hiding the dirty bowl of water behind his feet.

Arthur looked the guiltiest. Not only was he out of bed, but mud covered his hands and bare feet. Mud was everywhere. On the wall, the floor, Arthur’s clothes, even a smudge of it was on his face.

She put her hands on her hips and heaved a great sigh. She didn’t have to say more than that.

+

 

Eames couldn’t focus on the meeting. He didn’t care that his forces had crushed King Dominic’s navy and taken three port cities, he didn’t care that the flux outbreak had ended, he didn’t care that King Miles no longer wished to be his daughter’s ally since she’d given birth to a Phillipa instead of a Phillip.

Arthur seemed well enough when he’d left him in the afternoon, though he slept as deeply as the dead these days and ate little food when he was awake.

He was prepared to send the privy council off, so that he too could sleep for a while, when Arthur’s boy barged into the room past the guards and whispered in Eames’ ear, “The doctor needs you, Majesty.”

Eames' first instinct was to run, but he took a deep breath and then another before standing to follow the boy back to Arthur’s chambers. He didn’t know what to expect and feared hoping for the best _or_ worse, so he counted his steps in his head, trying to distract himself.

The doctor wiped sweat from his forehead as he approached, but Eames didn’t see him. Three attendants left Arthur’s room with a small basket filled with bloody towels.

“We tried to bleed his arm,” the doctor quickly explained, “to quell the sickness that overtook his Majesty, but then we had much trouble stopping the bleeding afterwords. The fever remains, only now, he is much weaker than before. He asked for you, but we were not sure whether it was a fevered dream or not.”

Eames didn’t need to hear more. When he walked into the room, Ariadne and two others were trying to convince Arthur to stay in bed, but he refused, half asleep and clearly out of his wits in pain. Eames stood in the doorway, staring in shock, cowed by what he saw.

They all stepped aside as Eames slipped in between Arthur’s reaching arms. His pale body was a furnace. Sweat clung to his skin, dampening his hair and the thin nightgown he wore.

“Draw him a bath. Do it now,” the King ordered.

“Yes, Majesty. It will take a while for the servants to deliver the warm water.”

“No. Bring it cold.”

“But, Majesty, that will—”

“Do it, I said.”

When the bath was prepared, he carried Arthur in his arms, hushing his protesting groans and laid him in the cool bath with the utmost care.

Arthur startled fully awake at once, his nightgown soaked in the water. “Do you intend to drown me, Paul?”

Eames hushed him again and soothed him with gentle kisses over his forehead. He cupped his hands, not caring that his sleeves were now wet and washed Arthur’s face and hair while the doctor and attendants stood behind him, watching closely.

Arthur blinked the water from his lashes and nestled against Eames’ shoulder. “Eames?”

He cracked a smile. “Feeling better?”

“I’m thirsty. Still burning. Why isn’t my sister here? She always cares for me when I’m not feeling well. What did I do for her to neglect me? Did Michel send her away?”

Eames was speechless, helpless to Arthur's weeping, but his application of cool water brought down Arthur’s temperature. He was fast asleep when the ladies dressed him in a dry gown and tucked him back into bed. Eames sat by his side, watching his forehead wrinkle in nightmares as his temperature rose again. Arthur’s hands clutched the front of his gown and the sheets covering his belly in his sleep, muttering pleas for some monster in his dream not to hurt the baby.

Eames couldn’t stomach it any longer when Arthur whispered for his sister over and over again, begging her to save him.

Every day after was much the same. Everyone in the palace seemed to be on thin ice, their breaths held waiting for word or a sign of change.  

Arthur lay on his side, clutching his stomach. Eames could hear his short, pained breaths. “Eames?” he heard Arthur grit out. He rushed to his side and let Arthur squeeze the circulation out of his hands. He kissed the pained frown on his lips and the tears from his eyes. 

“You need to try to eat, darling.” His heart broke when Arthur groaned. “I’ll help you. Then you can lie back down, alright?”

But Arthur either wouldn’t or couldn’t move.

“Come on, Arthur. You have to eat something.”

“I know what’s happening to me,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be scared, but—”

“You’re talking madness, darling. There’s nothing to fear.”

He shook his head against the pillow, cracking his eyes open. “You still treat me like the child you once knew before our marriage. I know what everyone’s not telling me, Eames. I can feel death’s spirit hovering in this room, making her decision to collect or leave empty-handed. Our child seems to be making a case against me.” He gasped as another wave of pain gripped his body.

Eames huffed to cover his grief. “You’re too damned clever for your own good, Arthur.”

“Is it really me, Eames, or is the baby unwell?”

“I’m…No one is certain. You smell healthy and so does the child, but… Look at you.” He shook his head. “My bite did not take with you at all, it seems, but being an omega was supposed to make this easy, simple, all on its own. Did we try for children too soon? Are you too young still? Should we have waited a year, maybe two? I have no earthy idea, Arthur. Lady Catherine has assured me that first pregnancies are always hardest, but there’s more to this.” He stopped speaking to listen to Arthur’s renewed struggle to breathe.

Arthur clutched Eames’ hands tighter. 

“I don’t understand,” Eames growled in frustration, unable to do anything to ease Arthur’s distress. “You’ve done nothing to deserve this.”

Arthur tried to smile. “I at least have peace knowing that I did my very best for you. I do intend to see this through for as long as I can. I promise. You’ll have your son.”

“What bloody good is he without you?” he sobbed, trying to reach Arthur, but his exhaustion was already pulling him back into a fitful sleep. Eames stumbled back against his chair, rubbing his face. “My god, I blew it. All this time I’ve had you I’ve taken you for granted. I bullied you, and have always put myself first. I nearly killed you with my bite before, and now I’ve put you at grave risk all over again,” he rambled. “I…let a blind need for an heir run you through hoops and you in all your beautiful grace did everything I commanded of you.”

He sank lower in his chair and didn’t speak further when the attendants and Cardinal Bryant returned to the room with the holy wine and blessed linens.

Cardinal Bryant approached Eames cautiously. “Majesty, if you wish, I would like to offer you prayers in your chapel tonight.”

He nodded in silence, knowing very well whose punishment this was and needing desperately to answer for all the wrongs he’d done to Arthur before it was too late.

+

 

It happened all of a sudden. Eames took one step into the privy council’s meeting room when he was at once overcome with a crippling feeling of dread unlike anything he’d ever known.

He took off in the direction of Arthur’s chambers at a dead run, nearly shifting just to get there faster.

He could hear Arthur’s screams from down the corridor.

“Your Majesty,” the doctor greeted him with relief, “we were just about to send word to you.”

“What the bloody hell has happened? Let me pass!”

The doctor shrank away from Eames’ raised fist, but he didn’t back down. “His labor contractions have begun.”

“Oh my god,” he groaned. He wanted to crawl into the fireplace. “It’s too early. He still has another month left.”

“No, no, no, your Majesty. This is good. Majesty, listen to me.” He and his assistant had to guide Eames into a chair when Arthur’s scream cut through the air again. “A month early gives us better odds and will free Arthur from further hardship. There are still great risks in this, and…Lady Catherine and the midwives cannot promise that this will end well, but this small blessing may save either Arthur or the child yet.”

Eames tried to take deep, calming breaths, but every scream from Arthur set him more on edge. Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed the doctor by his collar. “If you’re telling me lies, then you will die just like your predecessor did.”

 

Arthur thought he knew true pain being cut open by the first doctor. He was wrong. Every contraction had him seeing spots and pulling at the bedding. He was a rabbit in a wolf’s mouth, an ant flattened under a brick. There was no sense of time or consistency. He blinked and it was day, blinked again and it was night. At the start of a new contraction, several ladies crowded his bedside, but when the contraction ended, different ladies had taken their place. He remembered being cold and too hot, but too weak to voice his needs.

Eames wore a path into the tiles in the parlor, fuming that he – the King of this realm – was not allowed into the room with Arthur even though his screams tore at Eames’ very soul. He collapsed into a chair and covered his ears.

“Eamesie,” Yusuf urged him, “we should go wait elsewhere. Try to distract your mind from this—” He grimaced when Arthur screamed again. “You’ll pull all your hair out before this is over.” But Eames wouldn’t budge.

Arthur covered his ears to block out the voices surrounding him. They didn’t understand. He’d tried for hours to push and now he wanted to sleep forever.

Strong hands gripped his wrists and pulled them away from his face. He blinked up in time to see Ariadne before his world drifted to black. He was roused as soon as his eyes closed.

“Arthur?” Ariadne still gripped his hand. “Come on, Arthur, you can’t give up yet.”

He was sobbing, so glad to see her face and feel her near him. She kept up her encouragements until at last he nodded and steeled himself to try again. He pushed with every ounce of strength he had for what felt like a small eternity, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Arthur, you can do it. Just a little while longer,” Ariadne whispered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Eames sat with his head in his hands as evening turned to night and night to daybreak. He glanced over at Yusuf, certain that the elder werewolf’s hair had more grays than it had the day before.

Arthur’s screams were getting weaker. Eames rocked in his chair, counting his breaths and then the tiles and then the frills on his sleeves. Before he knew it, a servant was kneeling beside him, asking if he wished to take an afternoon meal since he’d missed all others. He sent him away at once and resumed his earlier pacing.

“Yusuf, this isn’t good. It’s been too long. What do you think has happened?”

Before he could answer, the doors to Arthur’s room burst open. Two of his ladies ran out in tears with baskets full of bloody towels. More sobs could be heard through the door before a baby began to cry. Eames ran in at once to the dismay of Yusuf and everyone present.

Lady Catherine and the midwives were making quick work of cleaning the baby in the corner. Lady Rose and Marisol sat on the floor, exhausted and weeping into their bloody hands.

Arthur’s gown and sheets were stained with heavy bleeding. He looked so small in the large bed as the doctor and his assistant tried their best to stop the blood, but they were failing.

Eames couldn’t move. The smell of his mate's blood made him want to vomit and or drive a sword through his own chest. Arthur’s eyes fluttered, his heart losing its strength. He couldn’t hold Ariadne, though her hand was bruised from his earlier grip.

Ariadne’s prayers wouldn’t cease. She refused to let go of Arthur even as the doctor looked close to giving up.

Arthur’s mouth was slack, but he tried to speak. “Mal's…please…”

Ariadne loosened her hold on his hand when he pointed at the book on the desk. She rushed over quickly and retrieved Mal’s pendant, slipping it into Arthur’s hand.

Eames found himself roused from his grief when Lady Catherine approached him with the baby. It was almost too unbelievable to hold their healthy son in his arms while Arthur still fought for every breath. He was numb when he sat down, cradling the child’s head, his eyes blurred with tears. He wanted to hate the boy, but he couldn’t. His love washed over him, drowning him and choking his heart when the baby peered up curiously at his father for the first time with Arthur's eyes.

“Arthur?” Ariadne sat on the edge of the bed, feeling Arthur’s hand squeeze around the pendant. Warmth radiated from his palm into hers. She gasped at the power as it rolled through them both.

Eames moved to the bed, careful with the child. He could sense it as well, Mal’s signature working slowly to restore Arthur’s breathing, then his heart. The attendants all watched in silent wonder as the minutes ticked by, until the power receded, leaving Arthur's body still threadbare in his strength, but alive.

Eames held back his tears as the doctor was able at last to finish his work. He let the midwives take the child to give to the wet nurse and reached for Arthur’s hand. He kissed it with all the fire burning in his heart and smiled when Arthur’s eyes cracked open enough to see him before falling into an exhausted sleep, still clutching Eames' hand.

+

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE OF TWO UPDATES, BECAUSE I'VE LOST CONTROL OF MY BRAIN AND THERE ARE OVER 330 SUBSCRIBERS AND IT'S ALMOST CHRISTMAS, SO WHY NOT? O_O
> 
> ENJOY!

+

 

King Eames’ heavy footfalls sounded off the hardwood and stone, silencing his privy council even before he turned the corner and entered the room.

They bowed and took their seat around the table, not sure what to expect at this impromptu meeting so early in the morning.

Eames stood at the head, his palms pressed to the table’s surface.

“Majesty?” the Duke of Roe spoke up at last, unable to handle the King’s silence.

Eames glanced at each of them, before stating, “My noble lords and dukes, the time for change is quick upon us. I wish to have my ambassador returned to Runes.”

“Why?” the Earl of Green teased. “So your uncle can see King Dominic’s face when we crush his army and sack his palaces?”

Just thinking of that put a big smile on Eames’ face. “If only that were the plan.”

“Well, then,” the young werewolf frowned, “pray tell us, your Majesty, why is your uncle returning to Runes?”

“I wish to initiate negotiations for…a treaty…with King Dominic.”

+

 

“On this day, the twenty-fifth of August, 1490, we gather in this holy place to celebrate the birth…”

Eames paid the christening ceremony little mind. His eyes were focused on Joseph in his arms. His little brown eyes were trying to soak in as much as possible of all the glittering jewels and shining clothes the christening party wore around him, the gold cup from which the priests baptized him, and the sunlight glowing through the stained glass windows. His tiny fingers played with the back of Eames’ hand. Every now and then, his eyes would rise to look up at Eames before drifting in and out of sleep.

A dusting of coffee brown hair covered his little head, his eyelashes long and his lips full, like his father's. When Eames kissed his forehead to settle his soft cries, Eames found that the baby had Arthur’s dimples too.

Joseph was caught in the small wonder of watching Yusuf and Ariadne light their candles, the amber flames casting shadows that flickered up to the murals on the high ceilings of the palace chapel.

By the ceremony's end, Eames already had made a hundred plans for his son. Joseph would have to grow to be the strongest and most powerful alpha in all the realms, logical, precise in all judgments, merciful but unwavering as well, a protector and leader, and a hunter as well as a man of science. However, Eames knew that he had a great responsibility too, to his son, to not only be the King who would teach Joseph how to rule, but the father needed to teach him how to be a just and loving alpha—not daunting tasks at all for Eames and his baby to accomplish.

“Well, my boy,” Eames whispered against his dimpled cheek when Ariadne and Lady Catherine stepped forward, “you’re ready to become a true prince of Engston and I, your father.” He gave him over to the ladies with the utmost care and watched them leave, taking his heart with them.

+

 

Arthur blinked against his soft pillows, just waking from his nap in the late afternoon.

He’d only managed to sleep the few hours that Joseph had been gone to his christening. As if on cue, he always roused the moment he felt the child’s presence in his room. He was fatigued, and still healing, a week after the birth, and would be so for the rest of the month or longer, but catching Joseph’s scent made him alert and content enough to miss a few hours more of sleep.

Before Ariadne took her leave, she and Lady Rose repositioned all his blankets and pillows so that he could lie on his side and see the child better. He’d tried to ask them not to do this on the second day, but still couldn’t find the words to explain to them why he’d rather stare up at the ceiling, or anywhere else instead, during Joseph’s feedings.

Apart from Lady Catherine, all the attendants flocked around Lady Marisol to coo and tickle the child’s nose. Arthur watched the lady free her breast for Joseph to feed, even as Arthur’s own small breast still leaked with milk. He balled his fists around clumps of the pillowcases and sheets, ready to weep and not understanding why he was so emotional about it. All children of wealth and noble birth had wet nurses who fed them instead of their mothers, and he was still too weak to feed Joseph himself, the King’s doctor had told him.

Only, Arthur was sure at least that as an omega, his duty wasn’t just to produce a child but to then feed the child as well. And while Lady Catherine assured him that this was an antiquated omega urge that would pass, it didn't stop him from feeling like he was already failing his child.

She sat on the bed’s edge behind him to comb Arthur’s tangles into more presentable curls. She paused when she saw his frown. She moved closer, combing her fingers through his hair the way she used to when he was a child having a tantrum. She whispered in his ear, “At some point, your Majesty, you shall have to forgive little Joseph for his impatience and the unintended harms caused during his birth.”

The Lady's petting made him drowsy, even with his body’s insistence to stay awake for the baby. He smiled a little at her teasing, but his heart was still heavy. “How long until he’s moved to the nursery permanently?”

“One more week, your Majesty. Although, if you wish, I will take him toda—”

“No,” he said too quick and too loud. He blushed. “No, Madam,” his chest was tight, “next week is fine.”

She smiled slowly, but Arthur didn't see it, his eyes still looking at Joseph, a curious expression on his face.

“He is quite lovely, isn’t he?” she murmured.

Arthur watched Joseph’s little brow furrow as he looked around the room. “Yes,” he whispered back, as if he'd never noticed before. “At first, I was so relieved that he was finally out of me. I thought that I would be overjoyed to be free to return to my own needs and wants. Instead…I only feel empty now. All the things that held my attention before, I don't care about, and all the things I never thought I'd enjoy, I only want more of.”

She nodded, still petting his hair. “You crave conceiving another child?” When he nodded back, she chuckled. “That’s good. It is expected, but don’t let this trouble your heart. In time, you shall have another.”

He nodded again. Lady Marisol was walking around the room now, singing softly and patting Joseph’s back. “Lady Catherine, may I hold him for a bit? I think I'm well enough now.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” She smiled brightly. “Marisol?”

The attendants hurried to help Arthur sit up, drawing down the blankets and repositioning the pillows as Marisol transferred the baby with care. “Now,” Lady Catherine spoke softly, “take his head with this hand and place him along your arm. Perfect, your Majesty. You're a natural.”

The attendants sat around Arthur on the bed, their cheeks sore from smiling. Arthur was more than a little nervous, terrified to do something wrong or make Joseph cry. He readjusted the baby’s cap, the string tickling a smile onto Joseph’s face. Arthur smiled back at him, looking into his own eyes under Eames’ eyelids and past Eames' nose.

At once, Arthur heart was at peace. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, peering down at the child he’d carried. His son, so unlike the terror that had rampaged in his belly. This docile little smiling boy, Arthur could easily love.

“He’s beautiful, your Majesty,” Lady Rose whispered.

Arthur smiled again when Joseph whined. The little bundle was trying to fight sleep in favor of staring up at his mother, but it was a losing battle. His little Eames lips parted as his eyes fluttered one last time.

“Well, your Majesty, never has the little prince fallen asleep so easily in another's arms,” said Lady Catherine with pride. “He certainly knows his mother.”

 

Ariadne didn’t understood right away why Lady Catherine had her summoned to the Queen’s chambers at the end of the week. She was supposed to be catching a ship back to Rhodes in Duval to visit her family, but any opportunity to see Arthur was always well worth it.

These days, Arthur looked more alive than he had in months. He was sitting up in his bed, his skin glowed, his hair shimmered, and in his arms, Joseph slept soundly.

Every noble subject in the court hovered in or near his wing of the palace, all there to pay their respects to the new heir.

Arthur didn’t seem to mind the attention at all, only…as Ariadne watched him from her quiet place in the corner, did she notice something strange. Every now and then, as nobles came and went, Arthur’s eyes would drift up from the sleeping baby to the setting sun beyond the windows and then to the clock. It wasn’t until the last cluster of duchesses and lords departed that Ariadne knew Lady Catherine's intentions.

The older Madam sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed. “Your Majesty, it’s time for your evening rest.” She repeated herself when he pretended not to hear her. “His Majesty will be in the nursery to receive his Highness.”

He clutched the baby for a moment and made a show of checking Joseph’s bonnet and swaddling cloth. "The time went by so quickly." He swallowed and nodded at last, letting Lady Rose take Joseph into her arms. Arthur wiped at his eyes quickly. 

“It’s alright, Majesty,” Lady Catherine assured him, rubbing his arms. “It’ll only be a little while until you'll see him again. I shall care for him as I cared for you and your sister and brother. Moreover, I trust Lady Anne to serve your household as well, if not better than I did. Have peace, sweet Majesty.”

"I do. I would not trust him with anyone else." He nodded, stone-faced and understanding, but still his heart broke when she, and the ladies chosen for the nursery, carried Joseph away.

Lady Anne sat in the older madam’s spot, taking Arthur’s hand. “She’s right, Majesty. His Highness will be in good hands. Find some comfort in knowing that when you’re lying in has ended, we’ll visit the prince as much as possible.”

The doctor and Lady Catherine had ordered him to stay in bed for one whole month. Only two weeks had passed. Arthur’s resolve crumbled at that. He sobbed behind his hands.

Lady Anne looked to Ariadne helplessly. She was at his side at once. “Arthur, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, Ariadne,” he cried against her shoulder. “How can I know that he won’t look for me in the night and find me not there? What if the nursery is too cold, or too hot? Or—”

She hushed him gently and took out her handkerchief to dry his eyes though his tears wouldn’t stop. She smiled. “They’ll take good care of him. I promise.” She whispered for Lady Anne to call the King. “It’s alright, Arthur. Joseph’s safe. He’ll be just fine.”

+

 

“And so,” the Runes ambassador was saying, “now that her Highness, Princess Phillipa, might have a new playmate in his Highness, Prince Joseph, I think the only matter to settle would be this: When shall your country and my country plan the wedding engagement, your gracious and majestic Majesty? In my opinion…”

Eames tried to be inconspicuous when he rubbed his temples. All while he and the court had sat through these negotiation proceedings, Eames had been secretly negotiating with his head not to explode. 

He couldn’t stand to pay attention to the man for one more second. "I would consider the children to be extremely too young - as young and new as our proposal, even - to be promised to each other just yet."

"Ah, but your Majesty," he wagged his finger, "no doubt with Queen Mallorie's unparalleled beauty and the fine, rich blood of my divine and mose just and noble master, his Royal Majesty, King Dominic, running through her veins, there will be princes the world over fighting for the princess's hand."

Eames glared. In spite of the fear scent drifting from the large man’s pits whenever he moved his arms, King Dominic’s man was still as pompous as all Runesians were, with his outlandish clothes and sweeping hand gestures. He boasted of his sovereign lord as if he were speaking to a common beggar, not the King of Engston.

There was only so much Eames could put up with, and right now, with his omega alone and upset in his chambers and this arrogant man making a joke about Dominic’s victory in Hüstablen, as if Eames would find his own army’s defeat comical in any capacity, Eames had very much run out of politeness for one day.

He held up his hand. “Pardon me, Excellency.” He waved over Lord Yusuf and whispered in his ear, “I swear on my life, that I will give you another title if you take over this meeting before I eat him.” He stood with a strained smile. “I shall consider these terms and resume these talks in one week’s time. Until then, make yourself at home here.” He watched Ambassador Belger smile and bow nearly in half before the man took his leave.

 

He felt as if he’d just returned from a long war when he slipped into Arthur’s room. Eames just let his clothes and jewels clatter to the floor before climbing into bed behind him.

Arthur awoke with a groan and blinked irritably at Eames’ cheeky grin only long enough for him to realize who was in his bed. Eames had his nightgown up around his chest, kissing his soft middle with worshipful kisses.

“Don’t.” Arthur blushed terribly and quickly pulled his clothes down again.

“Have you grown shy with me again?” He teased only a little, his brown furrowed.

“I look hideous,” he muttered, covering himself with the sheets as well.

“No you don’t, you’re just insane, that's all.” He rested on Arthur’s shoulder, his hand still tracing his navel and the faint, raised, pale lines on either side of his stomach. “I like your little stripes. They’re proof, should we ever doubt, that our little boy was in here.”

Arthur was quiet for a while, his hand over Eames’. “I miss him.” In truth, he'd never expected this, yet even now, he was on the verge of tears again.

Eames hummed in agreement and pulled Arthur to his chest. “I think I shall make plans for a new palace in the country, away from all the city’s worries of rats and illness. Joseph is strong, but even the infants of werewolves must still be kept in confinement for their health. As soon as you’re up for it, we’ll pay him a visit. But until then, we must make up for sleep,” he yawned. "Precious, precious sleep with my darling, hm?" 

+

 

Eames couldn’t hold back his smile. Arthur held his hand, his grip tight and demanding as he tried his best not to run to the nursery once his lying in was finally over.

All sense of decorum was gone. Arthur walked ahead of Eames, tugging his hand whenever the King wasn't walking fast enough. Not that Eames minded one bit. Just seeing Arthur out of bed, seeing him healthy and like himself again, in his little dark blue and gold-trimmed tunic and baby blue tights, was worth it. He wanted to wrap his arms around Arthur's tiny waist. And he'd missed the way the skirt-like hem of the fabric swayed a little with the way Arthur walked. Hearing the faint tap-tap of Arthur’s slipper-clad feet on the tiled floors was heaven. He squeezed his hand.

Joseph was crying when they arrived. Lady Catherine and the ladies had never looked so frayed.

“Your Majesties,” she greeted them. “The prince has, for unknown reasons, taken up the sport of fighting sleep. Your Majesty,” she took Arthur’s hand, “he needs his mother’s touch. Please.”

Arthur glanced from her and his husband nervously, but stepped forward to the crib as the ladies bowed and moved aside. Warmth filled his heart upon seeing his son. He hid his laugh when Eames circled his waist behind him. “He’s even adorable when he being impossible, Eames,” he muttered as Joseph cried louder.

It took only a moment of Joseph lying against Arthur’s chest for him to quiet down.

“Rub his back in circles, soothing,” Lady Catherine whispered. “Walk with him. Just like that.” She smiled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief after a while of watching Arthur and Joseph together.

Arthur grimaced when Joseph drooled on his sleeve. Eames was ready with a cloth to dry the baby’s mouth and nose. Joseph whined again, trying to squirm in his swaddling cloth, but Arthur hushed him softly, his skill a thing of magic to the exhausted betas.

“Perfect,” he heard the King whisper to Lady Catherine. He turned to face him where Eames had sat in a chair, watching them with teary eyes and a chest filled with pride.

Arthur blushed when Eames sent away the attendants and patted his knee. He sat in his lap carefully, encased in Eames’ strong arms.

Eames beamed. “We need a portrait done,” he whispered. “A portrait of my new lovely family.”

+

 

The early fall turned to winter again before Arthur received the visit he’d been waiting and waiting for.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Anne bowed, “Sir Paul is here.”

He dropped his book at once and ran to see him.

“Look at you!” his brother proclaimed. “Your Majesty, the Queen now!”

He flattened out his tunic self-consciously, but frowned when he noticed Paul's heavy limp and wooden cane. “What on earth happened to you?”

Paul looked around them at the attendants, all reading and doing their needlepoint. “May we walk for a bit? I have much news.”

Arthur took him through his privy garden as servants trimmed the trees and decorated the statues for the Winter Solstice.

“I was waylaid it seemed by every force on earth,” Paul explained. “Our ship was hit with the flux first, which left me near dead in my wife’s arms for far longer than you could imagine, then she became ill, though with a different illness, the one that took my little Laura, so that was terrifying. I was glad that I then made my way to Milecomté, because…well, Michel would not have told any of us otherwise."

"What?"

"Father is terribly ill. In fact, as I stand here, there is strong chance that he may have already departed from this world, Arthur. I know you didn't know him very well, but I'm still very sorry to give you this news."

Arthur dropped his eyes. He stopped walking and glanced up at the sky. "It seems that the cycle of life is merciless one. Mal and I bring life into the world, while our father's is being taken away from it. Is he in good care? The best care, at least?"

"Well," Paul grimaced. "Your mother has made plans to marry her lover, so Michel has had her removed to one of the finer castles. Pray that he keeps her there and not on the streets like I expected. Gerard has yet to see father, but the old man is content, notheless, with the life he's lived."

"Good, I suppose. I'm glad to hear he's happy."

"And then," Paul continued, "upon my leaving for Runes, I ran into your old sweetheart, Robert, that fucking brat.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. He cleared his throat, unable to speak.

“And by ‘ran into’,” Paul was saying, “I mean to say that he tried to raise up a small army against my city. Had I my full strength, I would have crushed that little shit stain and his farm boys myself, but instead the deed had to be done with a tiny band of my soldiers—”

“He hurt you?” Arthur pointed at Paul’s cane.

“Oh no, no. This is from jousting. The cold weather makes it hurt worse, but it’s not as bad as it seems most of the time.”

“Then…what happened?”

“I captured him.” He nodded at Arthur’s paled face. “I did. I captured the little rat Fischer King. It didn’t take much of anything for him to explain himself. I swear, take away any true knight’s bread, and he’ll be fine. Take away a Fischer's? I might as well have threatened to chop off his hands and feet, or usurp his crown.” His expression turned sour when he asked, “You don’t still write to him do you?”

“The King forbid it.”

Paul snorted. “If you had the chance to write him though, would you?”

Arthur’s blush was enough of an answer.

He laughed. “Who knew you were such a heartbreaker, little brother. You’ve left poor Sir Robert’s heart in shambles. Serves him right.”

“Paul, I—”

“He’d thought to have you as his whore.”

Arthur sputtered and fell silent.

“You and him, you never actually… Oh, thank the Holy Mother,” he sighed, relieved when Arthur quickly shook his head. “Good. Well, I suppose, not good for Fischer. He planned to have his tiny, little kingdom with some beta queen and you in his bed—before he found out that you were an omega. When he learned of that revelation, you were already betrothed to King Eames. Now he only wishes he’d seduced you faster, and thought crusading to reclaim his sacked land would draw either Eames’ or Dominic’s attention. It failed. Poor fellow. I would have felt sorry for him, if you weren’t my little brother. I even propositioned him to be _my_ whore, as pretty as he is, but…there’s simply no help for that spoiled ‘personality’ of his.”

“You released him?”

Paul stopped walking and turned to him, his brow raised. “Of course. Should I have kept him in my dungeon longer?”

“Yes,” he gritted out.

“Now, now, Arthur, don’t be so angry. He’s learned his lesson. And if he hasn’t well…I shall definitely pity him when he tries to cross your husband. Eames would be the king of Engston, Eameston, Wolfshire, whatever those others are, _and_ , Fischer’s kingdom within the hour.”

“ So you never had the chance to see Mal?”

“I did!” he whispered, as they passed two of the servants. “My family and I stayed with her for a while.”

Arthur smiled sadly. “You saw the baby?”

“I did, yes…” His eyes searched for eavesdroppers before he leaned in close. “Arthur, you understand why our talk of the Runes Queen must be kept secret at all cost?” When he nodded, Paul took his arm and led him behind a tall statue. “Take off your coat.”

“Paul?” Arthur startled when Paul reached for him. His brother’s hands went under the back his tunic.

“Thank every god in the universe that you wear undergarments. Hold still!”

Arthur did as he told, too shocked to move, until he felt Paul slip a thick stack of folded letters under his clothes, held in place by his belt.

“Turn around.” Paul made sure the letters couldn’t be seen before putting Arthur back in his coat. “Now, I know how touchy my sister can be when someone else peeks her letters, I haven’t dared to open any of them. Make sure that you have total privacy, so no question can be asked and no King summoned to question you either. Burn them all. Matter of fact, read the letters at one time in front of the fireplace, so that as soon as you’re done, you can burn them, or if someone surprises you, you’ll be able to destroy them at once. Understood? There’s been rumors of a treaty, but no one, not even Dom, is saying a word in case it falls through, so don’t get your hopes up, _but_ I can say, that Mal misses you dearly, and she longs for the day when all our children can play and run together in peace.”

Arthur nodded quickly as they walked back into view, just in time for Lady Anne to come looking for Arthur. “Thank you, Paul. When should I see you again?”

“Tomorrow. I would like to see my little nephew.” He grinned. “In the meantime, tell me something about this Lady Anne of yours. I’d love to get know her better.”

+

 

Arthur gave the letters to Ariadne for safe keeping and only kept the first one on hand that night, knowing he had no time for all of them at once. He read it once, twice, and a third time, while Eames was in his own chambers for his bath and his own attendants sent off.

Inside, was a tiny portrait of Phillipa. There was no doubt in his mind that his husband had been wrong about her. The love that she poured into each and every word was all the proof he needed. The problem, as he had suspected all along, lay with his own husband. King Dominic was as unrelenting with the war as Eames was, no matter how much Mal tried. As long as Eames continued to attack, she'd explained, the more Dominic was going to fight back. It was up to Eames to lay down his sword first.

Arthur continued to sit on the floor, as the letter burned, thinking and thinking and thinking. His attempts thus far had been met with much resistance. What on earth could he do differently to persuade Eames?

He sighed, his head in his hands when the King arrived.

“Darling?” Eames called. “Are you well?”

“I am.” He got to his feet quickly and climbed into bed, making sure the letter was completely gone.

Eames kissed his forehead. “I know you miss our boy. I do too.”

Arthur nodded, lying against Eames’ chest as Eames read his book in the candlelight. It was the book with the mismatched pumpkin entry and blank page.

Blank page. Arthur smiled, snuggling up closer.

 

“Have you got a plan?” Paul asked the next day. Ariadne had given Arthur the key to her guestroom in the palace for privacy before she’d left.

Arthur was still smiling brightly as he wrote Mal a letter for each of the ones she’d sent. He glanced at Paul with cunning eyes. “I have.”

+

 

Eames decided to skip the Winter Solstice festival in favor of spending quiet time with Arthur and the baby.

“There’s nothing in the world I love more than being here,” he mused.

Arthur smiled, playing with their boy. “Joseph and I have a gift for his Majesty, don’t we?” He laughed when Joseph blew bubbles at him.

“A gift? You’ll spoil me even more than is possible, Arthur.”

“Two, in fact. Lady Rose?” Arthur called. “Bring the first, please.”

Eames perked up even more, seeing the massive book she brought in. “My goodness, Arthur, when did you have time for this?”

Arthur smiled nervously. “It was nearly finished some time ago. It only needed two adjustments.”

“I see!” Eames exclaimed, leafing through the book with excitement as Joseph drooled on its edges. “The pumpkin entry’s gone. Now I don’t look like a fool. And…” He stilled. “How did you…” He fell silent.

“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of entrusting Jeremy to draw it.”

The illustration and accompanying details for the somnacin plant was all there, on the pages as if it had been there all along.

“Yes, but… _how_ did you know what it looked like, what it _smells_ like?” he asked, full of wonder.

“Lady Rose?” Arthur nodded at her to retrieve the second gift.

Eames’ jaw fell to the floor when the somnacin plant, with its amber leaves and long, thorn-covered black roots, was glowing like a candle flame in the glass case it sat in. Eames handled the case with a reverent eye.

“Arthur…what sorcery is this?” he whispered.

“It’s from Mal. I…” he swallowed under Eames’ gaze. “Eames, husband, Majesty,” he pleaded, and took his hand carefully, his heart beating out of his chest, “this is a peace offering. Full access to their borderlands for all the research and resources you could ever wish for in exchange for peace.”

Eames studied him for a long time before he squeezed his hand. “Arthur, I forbid you from _ever_ gifting me _anything_ ever again, because you make it bloody impossible for me to even try to give you something for all that you’ve done for me.” He admired the case again, his eyes soaking in its beauty.

Arthur’s laugh bubbled up from his chest. He’d been holding his breath.

Eames covered him and Joseph with kisses. Arthur returned his kiss and took Eames’ face in his free hand, his eyes searching and his voice soft. “All I want is for you to see this through, Eames. Do your part, for us, for Dom and my sister, for our children, for the kingdoms…” He kissed Eames again before the King could argue. “Just do your part. That’s all.”

+

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVR'YBODY! HERE'S YO SECOND CHRISTMAS PRESENT!
> 
> ENJOY!

+

 

Eames realized that he had never known true fear until Lady Catherine’s lady summoned him and Arthur to the nursery in the early morning hours. He took Arthur’s hand as they hurried, still in their nightgowns and robes, flanked by their sleepy attendants.

They could hear Joseph crying and screaming before they reached the door. The corridors were cold from the February snow, but the nursery was comfortably warm.

“What’s happened?” Arthur demanded.

The baby was still wailing and clutching his blanket as he sat up his crib, his little gown in tatters, his cheeks wet and his nose running. He made several choking sounds before gripping his blanket tighter, sneezing hard.

Arthur and Eames’ mouths fell open in surprise.

“Now you understand our predicament, Majesties,” Lady Catherine sighed.

The little black and mahogany-spotted pup whined loudly in dismay, sitting on his little tail, his ears curled under. He toppled over on his side, unable to stand on his paws. He sneezed again, shifting back. Joseph cried even harder as he looked down at his human body, his brow furrowed in confusion. He reached his arms out at once when Arthur neared to pick him up.

He rocked and patted him gently, feeling Joseph clutch at his sleeve. “It’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing circles over his back. “See? You’re fine. When you’re older, you’ll be able to control it. Right?” He glanced over his shoulder, wondering where Eames had gone.

Eames still stood planted next to Lady Catherine. He wiped at his eyes quickly and cleared his throat. “Is this the first time he’s done that?”

She nodded. “He was playing with his blanket and tickled his nose, making him sneeze, and… It’s been happening for several minutes now.”

Eames stepped closer, his heart aching for the frightened little boy in Arthur’s arms. Arthur continued to speak softly to Joseph, quieting his cries. Eames circled his arms around them both, making Arthur smile.

“Let me take him for a bit,” Eames whispered. “There we go,” he sighed, covering Joseph’s rosy cheeks in soft kisses. “Now, what’s all this fuss about, hm? Is my big, alpha wolf afraid of his own shadow?”

“Eames,” Arthur chided, though he still smiled seeing Joseph stare at Eames.

“I’ve got an idea.” He handed the baby back to Arthur and ordered the attendants to leave. When they were gone, he slipped out of his robe and gown.

Arthur frowned. “I’m not sure what…” He watched Eames shift and chuckled. He sat on the floor across from the massive wolf as Eames sniffed at Joseph’s back.

Joseph’s eyes went wide seeing the wolf. He tried to stand on his pudgy legs and hid inside Arthur’s robe.

Arthur didn’t know how to remedy the situation, with Joseph sobbing again and Eames whining in his own dismay. He moved closer to Eames and turned Joseph around to face his father. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. See, look at how soft his fur is.” His hand disappeared in the thick fur on Eames’ neck. “You can pet his chest too. See?” He watched Joseph look from Arthur’s face to his hand and then up at Eames. Arthur smiled when the boy finally reached forward.

Eames startled in surprise when Joseph grabbed at his fur and pulled out a small handful. Arthur stopped the baby from putting it in his mouth.

Eames shifted back and groaned, clutching his chest. “Fuck me, that boy’s got a strong grip. That hurt.” He stilled, noticing that Joseph was staring at him again. He and Arthur sat in silence as the boy’s distressed lip quivering turned into a bright smile.

They laughed together when Joseph turned from Eames to his mother over and over, making sure Arthur had seen what he’d seen.

“My two naked alphas,” Arthur teased, shaking his head at them both when Joseph tried to climb out of his lap to Eames for a closer look. “That’s right. He’s your papa.”

Joseph gasped and fell back into Arthur’s arm when Eames shifted again, only this time, his curiosity didn’t bring more tears. His smile turned shy, sitting in the protection of Arthur’s lap. He giggled and squealed when Eames’ big nose sniffed around his brown curls and dimples. He gummed at Eames’ face when he caught it in his hands.

Eames stretched out on his side and tried to lick the baby, but Arthur swatted his nose. Opting for a different approach, Eames howled low, making Joseph shift so that he could lick him properly. Arthur moved, sitting Joseph on the floor. He rested against Eames’ shoulder, watching Joseph try out his paws and tail.

Eames howled again, but it was different. He did it over and over. Joseph studied him, his head tilted before he yelped. The pup yelped again, longer, trying to match his father when Eames howled again.

Arthur was close to falling asleep with the steady rise and fall of Eames’ breathing. Joseph nuzzled his hand, still throwing back his head and yelping at the top of his lungs. Now that he was satisfied with his mastering of howls, it seemed the little pup would never be quiet. 

No matter how endearing Joseph's song of howls was, Arthur felt terribly sorry for Lady Catherine and the others, who at this point, might not ever sleep again.

+

 

Eames hadn’t the slightest idea why his body was so upset with him. He’d produced an heir. What more could it ask for? And yet, when his rut returned, it was stronger than any he’d known before, as if it’d been building up throughout all of Arthur’s pregnancy, waiting to attack Eames with force.

He canceled his meetings rather than risk a fight. Instead, he went looking for his omega. Only, Arthur wasn’t in his chambers, or in the nursery.

Eames was on his way to the observatory when he finally caught wind of the scent.

A heat scent. His eyes turned golden at once.

 

“Oh, your Majesty,” Jeremy sighed, walking beside Arthur in the fresh snow, “I know you can’t wait until little Joseph is old enough to see such blankets of white. The gardens are so beautiful!”

Arthur tightened his furs around him, beaming. He had only one more day left before his heat would reach its full strength. It had hardly ever snowed an inch in Milecomté, and he’d slept through last year’s snow here. He wouldn’t miss this day for anything in the world.

Of course, that was before the wind carried Eames’ scent towards him. He had to stop for a beat to gather his wits, momentarily dazed and feeling wet in his underwear. “Jeremy, do me a favor?”

“Yes, Majesty?” He glanced from the approaching King to his Queen, who led him quickly away from the others.

Arthur didn’t stop until they entered the thick, tall maze. When the coast was clear, he opened his furs and coat.

“Majesty?” Jeremy was hit by his heat scent at once. His own clothes felt too heavy for him. He helped Arthur reached under his tunic with nimble fingers, trying not to think of how soft and warm his skin was as he held and retied the ribbons and strings when Arthur took off his underwear.

“Majesty! What—”

Arthur laughed at Jeremy red face and wide eyes. “Take these and hide them somewhere. Quickly, quickly.”

“But,” he swallowed, “your…your nether parts will freeze.” He paused, blushing even deeper, understanding the plan. He smirked. “Thankfully his Majesty will come…to keep them warm for you.”

“Precisely.” He and Jeremy snickered, conspiring as Jeremy hid the garment in his satchel.

Arthur was presentable again when they left the maze. Jeremy’s blush was gone as well, but he stayed behind the attendants, just in case the King got the wrong idea.

“It’s the Lover’s Day,” Eames announced, kissing Arthur and scented him deeply. “Isn’t it fitting that our heats should catch us on such a perfect day?”

“It’s something,” Arthur commented, feeling himself getting wetter by the second, though the cold and snow kept his fever at bay. Perfect for teasing. “Come and look at the gardens with us!” He smiled brightly, taking the King’s arm.

Eames _did_ like the gardens, but he liked feeling his knot in Arthur’s heat-soaked quim even more. “Darling, it’s Lover’s Day. Shouldn’t we be rolling around in bed, instead of wandering about out here?”

“Your rut is strong, isn’t it?” He smirked when Eames didn’t comment. “You poor, poor dear.”

“I remember you once volunteering to help me through my ruts, yet now, you leave me stranded, after months of seeing me pine and not take. And I know your heat is building too. You’re flushed. Let’s go inside.”

Arthur let go of his arm and continued to walk and admire the snow covering the shrubbery, humming noncommittally at Eames’ words.

“Arthur, _please_ ,” Eames muttered. “I am your King and I am beseeching you, with all my heart, and I will whine and stomp my feet and shout if I must.”

He snickered, but moaned a little when he caught Eames’ scent again in the breeze as he stopped to break off an icicle from a fountain. “You smell really good.”

“I fuck even better, if you remember. Or will Joseph be walking and talking and learning how to ride a horse before you allow me to pluck the ripe fruit from your tree for my nourishment?” He growled when Arthur walked faster. “Look at all the love and care I get for being so good to you,” he teased, walking faster still. He narrowed his eyes when he caught up to Arthur. “Do you mean to abandon me even out here in the snow?”

A mischievous dimple in Arthur’s cheek was all the warning Eames got before Arthur slipped out of his heavy coat and ran laughing through the fresh snowfall. 

It was instinctual for Eames to give chase. He was giddy, pursuing Arthur with their attendants trying to catch up and failing as Arthur weaved and ducked through surprised passersby all trying to bow and avoid a collision from Eames at the same time. It thrilled the King. He slowed down whenever he got too close to Arthur just to see where the omega’s feet would carry him next.

They neared the palace. Eames had to stop him now that they were inside, but to his surprise, Arthur ran faster still and let his small frame aid him in squeezing through the heavy throngs of people clustered here and there. He followed the scent and laughed merrily when it took him to their secret garden.

Arthur knew it was futile to hide with his heart beating out his chest and so out of breath that Eames could hear him, but still he stayed behind the vine-covered column until Eames snuck up behind him, quiet as a mouse.

He pinned Arthur’s arms at his side as he captured his mouth in a claiming kiss. “I ought to punish you for misbehaving the way you are,” Eames rumbled, pulling open the collar of Arthur's tunic to drag sharp teeth across his neck. “Running through the palace is very improper, but…” he let go only to grab at the bottom of Arthur’s tunic, gathering the fabric up high on his thighs, “you are a very, very improper boy, so breaking the rules is nothing to you, is it?” He growled into Arthur’s neck when Arthur pushed his tunic back down, keeping himself covered.

Arthur laughed, blushing when Eames still caught the string at the top of his leg.

“And what is this, my darling?” he asked, feeling up the string to a garter belt.

“A different style of tights. See?” He lifted his tunic only high enough to show where his upper thigh peeked from under the lace string and dark blue hem of his new silk tights.

“I _do_ see,” Eames purred. “So what do you wear then, to cover your…”

Arthur swatted away his searching hands. “My undergarments are no business of yours, your Majesty.” The devilish grin set between his angelic dimples had Eames momentarily entranced. Arthur took off running again.

 

His heart beat a thousand paces a second. He slowed his run as he passed several members of the privy council, thinking he’d lost the King only for the werewolf to surprise him as he crept into an empty room.

“Come here, you little rabbit,” Eames growled.

Arthur cursed, struggling. “You cheated! You had to! Where did you even come from?” He laughed as he was hoisted over Eames’ shoulder.

Eames dumped him on the nearest table, sending plumes of dust flying. He let his claws cut deep gorges in the wood on either side of Arthur, listening to his omega’s heartbeat skip. “I’ve lived in this palace all my life. I know every trapdoor, nook, and second doorway,” he proclaimed, pointing to the open door he’d come in from.

"Damn it all." Arthur was still laughing as Eames used his weight to pin him to the table’s surface. “So you have bested me, cunning hunter.”

“You know,” Eames teased, making Arthur flinch when he grabbed his legs and tossed them wider apart, “I’ve always thought the word cunning sounds so very dirty.”

“It does sound like something else, doesn’t it?” He waited until Eames’ hands moved before bucking hard and rolling out of his grasp. He cackled with triumph as he ran into the adjoining room. It was dark from the old, closed drapes, the floor gray with dust.

But the room only had one door.

“Oh no, you’ve trapped yourself again, darling,” Eames crooned. “Wherever will you run to next?” His smile grew as Arthur backed himself against the wall. He let him run around him only far enough to catch him in the doorway leading back to the room they’d just left.

“No fair. You’re faster than me.” Arthur moaned into the old stone as Eames’ bulk trapped him against the door frame, his possessive hands circling around Arthur’s front, roaming under his tunic to feel how wet he was between his legs.

“So _that’s_ what you wear under your clothes now. I see.” Arthur was bare under the garter belt for his tights.

He panted desperately, gripping the stone as Eames worked two fingers inside him.

Eames pressed his covered cock flush to Arthur’s ass, and roughly pulled apart Arthur’s legs when they tried to close around his fingers. His freed hand moved Arthur’s hair aside. He gripped his chin and bit the back of his neck hard enough for Arthur to melt in his grasp.

“Eames,” he moaned, pushing his hips back. He turned and sank to his knees when he was let go and helped untie the strings of his husband's codpiece. Eames’ hand gripped his throat tightly. Arthur took him into his mouth without needing to be told.

Eames rested his head on the doorframe, covering Arthur as he moaned, choked, and swallowed around him. He saw one of Arthur’s hands disappear under his tunic. Eames found the omega dripping between his thighs when he made Arthur stand and saw the spot of wetness on the floor.

He laid Arthur out on the table again, only now on his stomach to keep him planted. Their game was over. Arthur wouldn’t run a third time, not this hot and needing.

“Eames, the doors.”

Eames glanced behind them. Both doors were still open to the corridors, but he didn’t care. No one in their right mind would risk his mauling to sneak a peek at what they were up to, not even the attendants Eames heard hiding around the corner.

“God, I fucking love these tunics,” he groaned, hiking the ornate fabric out of his way like he was pushing aside skirts. He hummed in appreciation, smacking Arthur’s hip. “I really, really, really do.” The sight of his bare ass under his garter belt drove Eames to a near salivating state. He let a claw cut the strings for the garter on his left leg and snapped them with his teeth on the right before pulling down Arthur’s tights.

Arthur blushed against the tabletop. “That was unnecessary.”

“Hush, you. I like feeling your legs,” he whispered into Arthur’s hair, his claws carefully raking up and down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “They’re very nice legs that I've missed touching for months.”

Arthur’s mouth fell opened in a silent cry when Eames thrust into his wetness and began fucking him open at once. He gripped the table’s edges for leverage, though it was hardly enough. His moans poured out of him, echoing in the empty room as they grew louder and joined Eames’ rumbling grunts and the loud smack of their bodies connecting. “Eames, you’ll break me.”

“Oh god.” Just the thought made him quicken his pace. “Look at you, you filthy…beautiful…evil little monster.” He parted Arthur’s ass to see his cock disappear into his heat, his thrusts harder still, rocking Arthur and the table both. He slipped a hand into Arthur’s hair, his other wrapped around his cock, stroking him quickly, making Arthur spill over Eames’ hand, coating his rings.

Eames felt Arthur’s release bring him close to coming as well and withdrew only far enough to keep his swelling knot from holding them together. Arthur groaned, lamenting the lost knot as he felt Eames’ come slide between his legs.

Arthur was still panting when he turned and nearly slipped. He grimaced at the mess Eames had made of the floor where his heavy released pooled under Arthur’s boots. “Now I understand why I always come second,” he marveled. His tights were stained down his legs with it as if he’d been ridden by a dozen men. Eames’ codpiece and hose were ruined too.

“And…the necessity of knotting,” Eames added, staring down as well with surprise, “to keep it all in you, I guess.”

“I had no idea that when you broke your lance that…that it was ever… _this much_. My goodness, Eames, I could drown.” He smiled up at him and laughed when Eames began to blush. “It’s a wonder that I don’t conceive ten children every time we fuc—”

“Oh, shut up, Arthur,” he grumbled, silencing him with a sloppy kiss. “It’s only because of my rut. How are we supposed to get out of here with all our clothes destroyed? And there’s no way my horn’s going to fit in my codpiece now anyways. Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”

“It is! Our rooms are all the way on the opposite end of the palace, aren’t they?” He laughed into Eames’ neck when he almost slipped again. “God, I’m still fevered.” He grabbed Eames’ hand to lick his come off of his rings and nipped at his jaw. “We should have knotted.”

“I agree,” Eames groaned as another wave of his rut rolled over him.

Arthur closed his eyes as he inhaled Eames’ heady scent. “Well…since we’re stuck here, we might as well…get stuck here.”

Eames was stopped from devouring Arthur’s mouth as one of his attendants cleared his throat just inside the doorway.

Jeremy kept his eyes down but his smirk was apparent. “Majesties,” he bowed. “I fetched both of your long overcoats, for when you’re ready to…finish your walk outside in the gardens. I’ll keep holding them,” he stressed, “in the corridor…for when you’re ready.”

Arthur’s face was bright red when the boy bowed and closed the door behind him. One of the ladies closed the other door, giggling on the other side, no doubt with her ear pressed to the wood to listen with the others.

“My attendants are so clever, Eames. They’ve saved us both.”

Eames' eyes were golden when he stared back at Arthur, his voice rough and deep. “Darling,” he whispered in Arthur’s hair, “you know what’s going to happen when I knot you, now that you’ve jinxed yourself with all your making fun of my seed.”

Arthur let Eames lay him down again, but stayed propped up on his elbows to continue his kisses up Eames’ throat. He paused, his eyes wide when Eames' words registered in his fogged mind. “Damn you, Eames. Damn you and your ill-timed ruts.”

+

 

“And?” Lady Rose asked, tying Arthur’s new tights to his garter.

“And I need new fabrics,” he yawned, “since the King enjoys destroying everything I wear.”

“ _And_?” Jeremy prompted, handing Lady Rose a belt of gold chain to fasten around Arthur’s new tunic.

“And…” he sighed, “my scent has changed again.” He shook his head as the attendants all rushed to shower him with hugs and kisses. “So we will need to begin preparing for that very soon.”

“I’ll go tell Lady Catherine the good news at once, Majesty.” Lady Miriam hurried to the nursery.

“Oh please let me be one of your midwives, Majesty?”

“And me as well? Please?”

Arthur blushed and laughed. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, I swear.”

“Majesty,” the guard announced from the parlor, “Cardinal Stewart is here to see you.”

Immediately, the mood in the room dampened.

“Just a moment, I’m nearly redressed,” Arthur sighed. He turned on his way to the adjoining room to look at each of his ladies. “Lady Anne, I pick you to be in charge of the midwives along with Lady Catherine.” He hurried from the room laughing into his hand as they all formed a jealous mob around Lady Anne.

“Your Eminence, this is a surprise.”

“Yes, but one that will surely be beneficial to you in the end, I hope.” He smiled and took the seat offered to him.

Arthur smiled back and sat as well, still blissful in the afterglow of his and King’s exercise. “What may I do for you, Eminence?”

“Your Highness, if I may offer my council, your behavior with the King today was most…”

Arthur’s brow rose as the beta searched for the right words. He clasped his hands in his lap, his head tilted in question. “Surely if you wish to speak about the King, you would do best going to him instead, your Eminence?”

“I am where I ought to be, Highness.” He smiled. “My issue is not with his Majesty.”

“I see… Continue, then.”

“Your behavior throughout the grounds of the palace was not becoming of one in your high position. You see, your Highness, the spouse of a king should always carry their self with an air of…spiritual integrity, and chasteness, and—”

“ _Chasteness_?” Arthur stood from his chair, now glowing with anger.

“Your Highness—”

“Chasteness, your Eminence?” He scoffed. “I remember quite vividly a conversation between you and I, when I was as new to this country as I was to the touch of a man, and what you said to me was quite different than what you say now. You _berated_ me when I _was_ chaste, saying that I was beneath the level of a concubine, for being incapable of pleasing my husband. Now, you reproach me for pleasing him too much?”

The Cardinal scratched his nose, embarrassed. “Your Highness, forgive me, I only—” He was cut off by Arthur’s laughter.

He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. Even his attendants snickered from the doorway of his bedroom. He had to take several breaths to collect himself. “Your most Gracious and Righteous Eminence,” he curtsied, and extended his hand towards the main door, “remove yourself from my sight, please.”

“Your Highness, understand that—”

“Good day, your Eminence.”

The elder man stood in mute shock, and turned, but was stopped when Arthur ordered behind him, “Wait. Turn around.” When the angered man did, Arthur crossed his arms. “I don’t want to see you at court for a while—”

“You can’t send me away. His Majesty would be furious,” he huffed.

“Are you so sure?” He patted his flat stomach. When the Cardinal could offer him no rebuttal, he smiled. “Guard? Escort him to his home at once and make sure he stays there until I decide to call for him.”

He watched the old beta stomp out of the room with the guard close on the Cardinal's heels. “Ariadne? Have the Cardinal’s office locked and his secretaries sent home as well. Bring me the keys and all his ledgers once you're done. I wish to see if his math has improved since my last peek into his books.”

+

 


	17. Chapter 17

+

 

Arthur could remember a time when hearing the King’s heavy footfalls echo off the hardwood and stones cowed him with fear. King Eames was a big man and an even bigger wolf, which was why Arthur couldn’t fathom the Cardinal’s betrayal.

“Your Majesty?” Jeremy bowed in front of Arthur with a stack of small books in his arms. “I found these in those drawers. They look handwritten, though…they appear to be filled with stories instead of records.”

Arthur heard the King approaching as he eyed the books curiously. “Have them sent to my rooms. I’ll look over them later.”

Eames stomped into the Cardinal’s office and found Arthur sitting on the edge of Stewart’s desk, leafing through his records. His attendants had all been gleefully pulling open shelves and emptying them on the floor. They dropped everything and moved back against the walls, their heads down.

“Arthur, my darling,” he muttered gruffly, trying and failing to subdue his anger over seeing the Cardinal's office in disarray. “Um, what the hell are you doing?”

“I sent the Cardinal on a holiday, your Majesty,” Arthur explained.

“I know that. I want to know why.”

Arthur turned the ledger around so Eames could see. He didn’t have to say a word.

Eames’ brow furrowed the further he read.

“My ladies, and Jeremy, please, continue your work.” He let Eames take the ledger and watched him flip through several more pages. “At first, I’d simply thought that his math was wrong—which, for an inexperienced treasurer, is a mistake oft to happen, but the Cardinal is not an inexperienced treasurer. I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, in honor of the love and respect I know you carry for him, but I had a hunch, and I followed it. Cardinal Stewart’s ledgers and records are filled with these…‘miscalculations’ and in his drawers, where documents for illegally sold properties and bribes.”

There was more. Much more, but he could sense Eames’ rage filling the room like thick smoke from a forest fire. Everyone could feel it now as well. The attendants shrank back even more. Arthur ignored his instinct to cover his stomach and instead, he kept silent and let Eames have the time he needed to get his anger under control.

Eames paced for a moment, his hands balled into fists, before looking at Arthur. “How long do you think your resting will be this time around?”

As if on cue, Arthur yawned. “Perhaps the same time as before.” He was crushed by the realization. He would miss the Cardinal’s arrest, his trial, everything, too busy sleeping the month away.

Eames nodded, his fists still clenching and unclenching. “For discovering this treacherous plot all by your own wit and intuition, when your resting has ended and your symptoms more bearable, I will have you oversee these proceedings, Arthur.”

Everyone in the room gasped. Arthur stared, wide-eyed, certain he’d misheard the King. “Majesty?”

“All the evidence you need to compile is right here, but if more need be unearthed, I want you to appoint your investigators and have that information delivered to Lord Yusuf for Stewart’s trial.”

“Your Majesty,” Lady Anne spoke low, “the Queen may be resigned to his bed for two months, if his symptoms are as great as before.”

Eames walked over to Arthur and cupped his still shocked face. “Then his Holy Eminence will simply have to find some way to entertain himself while he waits in the dungeon for the next two months, won’t he, my darling?”

+

 

“Master,” the tall stable boy panted, bouncing in his lap, “sir, my name isn’t Arthur. It’s Ron—”

He slapped the brunette’s hip hard, glaring. “So long as you are under my employ, you are whoever I say you are, understood?” He closed his eyes again as his servant resumed his pace.

They were both startled by loud banging and the glow of torches outside the window. Shouting could be heard from every corner of the estate before the doors downstairs burst open.

Cardinal Stewart tossed the boy off and hurried into his nightgown and robe. There was no time to figure out what was happening. He fled out of the room, down the hall, but not before hearing the stable boy shout to the guards about the secret door the Cardinal meant to escape through.

It didn’t matter. Guards were already waiting for the Cardinal outside in the line of trees. He tried to turn and run for the stables, but more guards were there to catch him.

The largest guard in the bunch him stomped forward and punched him as hard as he could.

The Cardinal was fuming where he’d fallen in a puddle of mud. “How dare you, you insolent mongrel! I am a Cardinal!”

The guard picked him up by his collar, sneering. “Yes, how dare I, when you’ve been buggering my son, Ronald? My boy was employed here to tend to your horses, because I thought I could trust you, you leech!”

“Oi, easy, Taft,” another guard shouted. “You’ve ruined his Royal Eminence’s fancy robe and slippers! Don’t you know he’s a Cardinal?”

Stewart saw red and tried to break free from their hold when all the guards laughed at his expense.

+

 

Arthur knew the second his resting and morning sickness had passed, that his husband had changed his mind.

The was no buzz throughout his rooms about plans to ready him for the investigation, no news on Cardinal Stewart’s condition in the dungeon. Arthur’s relieved sigh that he could stomach his meal changed quickly to one of shear annoyance and bubbling anger. The attendants finished dressing him in uneasy silence.

Ariadne was in the parlor with tea when he and the attendants left the bedroom. “Are you fond of ceremony, your Ma—”

“No.” He took his seat and crossed his arms. “Tell me what’s happened.”

She played with the ring he’d given her for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “The King decided that Cardinal Stewart’s treason was too great the personal insult too severe to wait a whole month to try him. He had the Earl of Green take over the investigation…” When Arthur didn’t respond, she concluded, “As well as the subsequent case, with Lord Yusuf.”

“So everything’s already been done? Just like that? Without me?”

She nodded. “Cardinal Stewart was executed on the third. The crows are still picking at what’s left of his head outside on the gate.”

He sat forward and tried to rub his rage from his face.

“Don’t freak out,” she pleaded.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Her eyes were on his stomach. “No stress this time," she muttered. "No complications.”

He sat back with more force than he’d intended and gripped his hair. “Oh, of course. I’d almost forgotten, after all those mornings of heaving my stomach inside out and missing an entire month of my life because I was asleep. Thank you for reminding me that my feelings don't actually matter now that the King's child is inside me, Ariadne,” he griped.

She held up her hands. “I’m here for you, remember? I'm only telling you truths. Don’t kill the messenger.”

He snorted. “I wouldn't, but Eames might, the second I doze off for my nap, as he just gets so much done while I'm sleeping, doesn't he?” His shoulders sank. He picked up his steaming tea. "Well, here's to the Cardinal. May his ego carry him across the lake of fire and cloak him from the heat of the flames for all eternity. Cheers."

 

“Arthur,” Eames shrugged, “I made a bad judgment call. There was no way you’d be able to handle all this work in your condition.”

“I could have done it all from my bed, and had a secretary to fulfill all errands.”

“It would have been much too risky. For this pregnancy, everything beyond your bed is too risky for you.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had plans, Eames. Plans to set his wrongs to right. The money he stole? Or the properties he took? Those resources were exploited at a time when taxes are crippling your peasantry and the country's farmers. They could do so much for their families and communities with those resources. Now what's happened to them?"

Eames shrugged again. "They've been returned to the royal treasury where they belong."

"So to you?"

"Yes."

"So that you may waste it on more gems and pearls for me?"

Eames' brow rose. "Arthur," he warned, "watch yourself."

"All I'm trying to say is just..." Eames was still glaring at him. His spirit deflated, unable to attempt another explanation when the hundred he’d tried already hadn’t gotten through Eames’ filter. What was the point of arguing now, anyways? The case was over and Arthur was still only two and a half months into his carrying. Arthur tossed up his arms and flopped back on the bed.

Eames wasn’t far behind him, getting them both comfortable in the pillows before lying in between Arthur’s legs.

Arthur let him kiss his neck for a while before he asked, “May I speak?”

“Of course.”

“Can I—Could _we_ take a break from having children after this one is born?” He wasn’t surprised by the pang of guilt in his chest when Eames’ brow furrowed. “I just feel that…I'd enjoy having some time for us to return to…” He locked his fingers together to illustrate. “And I miss being able to wear belts, and would love to spend more than four months out of my bed a year. I could go on trips with you on the horses, and help Yusuf with his cataloging. And climb the stairs up to the tower and my stars... At least until next spring?”

Eames chuckled, nodding. “I agree. I’m always more than a little jealous about the lap time Joseph keeps getting and know it’ll be the same with this one. I miss having you all to myself. I can just picture it now. My hands squeezing your little waist, or holding you down as I stretch you open…” He hummed as if tasting his favorite wine.

Arthur smiled, still staring up at the canopy with a new relief. He could almost feel the heavy key to the public observatory in his hands. The sextant still needed to be built, and Arthur was more than ready to see that happen. He just needed to get through these remaining months in one piece and he would have the time he needed. And when the next opportunity to prove himself arose, he'd be ready.

+

 

Everyone, from Arthur to the midwives, to the servants who replaced the gold fringe on the curtains and bed canopy each day, made sure to take every imaginable precaution throughout the pregnancy. Arthur’s drapes remained closed, the windows shut tight, his sheets and nightgowns changed every morning. Herbal teas replaced grapes for the thing he despised most in the world, and the only exercise he was allowed was simply walking to and from the chamber pot when little Thomas decided to stomp on Arthur’s bladder. And he'd thought Joseph had been a terror in his belly. Nothing compared to Thomas' constant kicking.

Eames spent his nights in his own bed to keep his hands off and his nose clear of Arthur’s scent. Arthur was restless beyond belief, stuck in bed with little in the way of entertainment, save for his books and Lady Marisol’s attempts to teach him sewing and needlepoint. That was, until Eames began to surprise him with new books and the return of his history and language tutors.

Then, one day, when he was alone in his room, Ariadne presented him with a gift.

He opened the box with a frown. Inside the velvet pouch was a hand’s length object of polished wood, shining from its smooth lacquer coating. The wider base tapered to a rounded tip, and at the center of the flat base, was a thin, leather strap no wider than a few fingers could slip through. Confused, Arthur picked it up by the strap and looked at Ariadne to explain. “What is this?”

She smiled. “Nine months is a long time to be without one’s mate. There’s a craftsman in Eameston who makes these little toy helpers.”

“Little helpers for what? What am I to do with a toy?”

“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed. Even though they were alone, she still whispered it in his ear.

His eyes went wide and he blushed at the toy swinging on his fingers.

“You’re welcome.” Ariadne chuckled. She was still smiling as she slipped into her coat. “I’ll tell the others you’re taking a nap and ought not to be disturbed. Have fun.”

Arthur kept a hand over his mouth, finding pleasure with the toy in the mornings before the attendants arrived for his bath. In the afternoons, he poured his heart into his lessons, and in the evenings when the old betas took their leave, Arthur shared the scrolls and maps with Jeremy and his ladies, telling them all he’d learned that day. He loved the old, dusty books the most, but lamented their loss when his belly became too big to sit the books in his lap. He tried to read lying on his side, but that only made him fall asleep before the page could be turned.

And in the final months, as the heavy fall winds blew the heat of summer away with the fruits and flowers, the chapels and monasteries across the realm filled with prayers for the Queen.

Joseph’s first birthday was celebrated with gifts of new houses and titles, and a stable full of prized racehorses from his father. But the baby cried for most of the evening, missing his mother who was still stuck in bed.

+

 

Thomas was larger than Joseph when he was born. Arthur was in labor for two whole days.

Eames wasn’t allowed into the room to see them for a week.

Arthur was on his side, sleeping in his sea of pillows with Thomas slumbering under his protective arm when Eames walked in. Arthur stirred a little when Eames kissed his forehead, and groaned as Eames carefully picked up Thomas to see him.

He could have traveled back in time, looking at the mirror image of himself as a child. His father had always remarked that Eames had been the biggest of his three children, a true alpha, though unlike Eames, Thomas would never have to rise up against his siblings. Eames would make sure of it. He tucked a little blonde curl back under the baby’s cap and smiled as sleepy grey eyes gazed at the light reflecting off of Eames’ silver chain of office.

Arthur groaned again when he stretched. His hand petted the space beside him, but he dozed again as soon as Eames got comfortable.

He looked pale and a little thin against the pillows, Eames mused, stroking a hand through Arthur’s wild hair. “You ought to always be on your best behavior, big boy,” he whispered to Thomas. “Your mother went through a lot to have you. And his loves you very much. Spoil that love and we shall both be in trouble with the Queen.” He laughed quietly when Thomas offered him a goofy, dimpled smile. “You have no idea what I’m saying at all, you adorable sack of potatoes, do you, Thomas? Well, you’ll figure it out soon enough the first time Arthur glares at you. And believe me, it doesn’t matter how cute you are, you’ll still catch his daggers. Joseph did when he scratched Arthur’s thumb. So beware.”

+

 

Arthur fidgeted in his chair and heaved a heavy sigh. “Mr. Daniels, forgive me, but I need a break.”

“A break from sitting?” Eames teased. “We’ve only been posing for an hour.” He took Joseph and Thomas when Arthur glared.

Arthur stood with a grimace and walked a lap around the study. The artist’s painting was turning out spectacularly, though the man’s time management left much to be desired as always.

Eames rocked Thomas and let Joseph waddle on the carpet. “I’m the one who's been standing this whole time. I wish I could sit. What’s got you so grumpy, darling?” He frowned when Arthur clicked his tongue at Joseph when the boy fell and began to cry.

Arthur quickly gave Joseph to the nearest attendants and walked another slow lap around the room. “I wish I could sit too, but someone rushed me out of my lying in for this portrait.”

“But Daniels is due to travel abroad soon. I wanted to be sure he could do this before he left.”

“Mama, take!” Joseph ordered, tumbling over Arthur’s foot.

Arthur groaned when he picked him up, cutting his eye at the attendants for letting the boy fall again. He kissed away Joseph’s frustrated tears. “It’s alright, you’re already so good at running. We’re all very proud.” He turned to Eames. “I’m tired."

The King handed Thomas to Jeremy. “Sweetheart, we’ll take a nap together once Daniels’ is finished, yeah?” He tried to reassure him with a smile, but Arthur’s expression was heartbreaking. “Do you really need to lie down? Is… Are you alright, darling?”

Arthur blushed as he made sure no one but Eames could hear him. “I feel a little like I…might have to call the doctor back, just to make sure that I’m…healing…correctly…down there,” he muttered. “I’m sure it’s fine, just…incredibly uncomfortable in that chair with Thomas in one arm and Joseph bouncing around in the other.”

“Hurt?” Joseph gasped, clutching at Arthur and sniffing at him diligently the way he'd seen his father do countless times, but his lip quivered in concern when he looked from Eames to Arthur. “Papa, fix mama?” He clutched at Arthur’s necklace and furs, his brown eyes filling with fresh tears as he looked to Eames for help.

“Oh no,” Arthur groaned, covering Joseph’s ears. “Why can’t they remain as oblivious newborns longer?”

Eames waved his hand. "I've cursed in front of him a dozen times. It's no big deal."

Arthur was too tired to properly reprimand Eames for his confession. He kissed Joseph again and rubbed his back. “Don’t cry. Papa will take care of me, Joseph. It’s alright.”

“I promise.” Eames’ smile was unabashedly cheeky when he covered Joseph’s ears again and whispered, “Arthur, I swear I bloody _love_ when you call me papa. You have no idea what it does to my brain.” He ruffled Joseph’s hair. “No need to be embarrassed, my darling. Your little alpha boy only wants to protect his mum, don’t you Joseph?” 

“That’s very noble of you, Joseph.” He put him back on the floor, thinking the boy would want to run around more, but Joseph only stood at his feet, keeping his balance by holding Arthur’s leg. He watched his parents speak softly to each other with a critical eye, making sure Eames was making Arthur feel better as he’d promised.

 

This winter was much colder than past years. Eames was bundled up in thicker, heavier furs as he left his last meeting of the day. In the two months since Thomas’ christening, the treaty with the King of Runes was still mostly up in the air. Eames desperately wanted to relax tonight.

He was yawning when he arrived in Arthur’s chambers. Arthur and the attendants were just completing their dance lessons with the tutor.

“There was a rug in the middle of this floor when I last visited,” he commented, frowning. “What’s happened to it?”

Arthur and the attendants rose from their curtsying, snickering behind their hand. “If they will be kind enough to permit me to lie and blame my poor dancing skills on it,” Arthur explained as a few ladies giggled, “the rug had a vendetta against me and wouldn’t let me dance properly. For it’s defiance, I had the grooms roll it up and put it in the corner.”

“Of course, I understand.” He smirked. “And your dancing is now superb?”

Two of the ladies and Jeremy outright laughed.

Arthur cut his eye at them before returning Eames’ smile. “Absolutely, your Majesty.” He gasped when Eames grabbed his waist and pulled him close.

“Well then,” the King said, “teach me what you’ve learned.”

He hadn’t been this close to Eames in much too long of a time. He swallowed. “Majesty, as if I can remember such complicated steps with your hands on me.”

Eames’ brow rose. He squeezed the tiny waist in his hands. “Good point.”

As soon the door shut behind them, Eames hoisted Arthur on his writing desk and pushed all its contents to the floor.

“Wait,” Arthur panted, “what are those?”

“Really, Arthur, now isn't the best time to let your attention wander to a spilled stack of books.”

“But those aren’t my books.” He nudged at Eames to move back. His husband nearly whined when Arthur plucked one of the books from the floor and began to read. “Oh, I remember these!”

“That’s good, now I can fuck you. Perfect.” Eames found his path blocked again with a hand at his chest.

“Jeremy found these in Cardinal Stewart’s office. He said they were filled with stories.” He sat down at his chair and leafed through several pages.

Eames had to pace the room to quell his lust. “Why on earth did you keep them? They’re probably cursed. They should have been burned with the others.”

“I’d forgotten about them,” he muttered, distracted.

Eames missed the blush that bloomed over Arthur’s face and neck. “What do you intend to do with them now?” He honestly didn’t care, but thought it polite to pretend. He glanced over his shoulder when Arthur didn’t respond. “What is it?”

Arthur swallowed. “This… Oh my… This is about me.”

“What?”

“I suppose this book began as a personal diary, but then…he's trailed off into… He kept going with it, too.” He closed his legs and swallowed again. “Fantasies.”

Eames stared at him deadpan. “Pardon? No, no, I understood what you meant, I just… That old man, that I trusted and who spent plenty of time with you unsupervised, was writing trash about you the whole time?”

“I mean…if you can call this trash. I loathe admitting this, but…they’re really good, actually.”

“They?”

Arthur nodded, still distracted. “I didn’t know people crafted whole stories about this type of thing,” he muttered, flipping through more pages, “but it’s filled with so many things I’ve never even heard of before. What does frottage mean?” His brow furrowed as if he were researching a scholarly document. He turned the page. “Oh…that’s…oh. He’s drawn pictures.” He blushed, and closed his legs tighter. “What position is this?” He turned the book sideways for a better angle and blushed even brighter. “Wow.”

“Enough,” Eames ordered. “I don’t like you having this trash in your possession. I wished I’d killed that man with my own hands now. To think that he’d been conjuring up these tales about you, it’s unacceptable. It's vile.”

Arthur got up from his chair quickly and moved out of Eames’ reach when the King made to take the book away. “Wait, Eames, look at this! There are pictures, and… Oh my…”

Eames’ brow shot up higher as he stared at Arthur. “Are you getting off on this?”

Arthur glanced at him sheepishly and shrugged.

Eames could almost taste Arthur’s arousal now, his scent a siren call. He snatched the book from Arthur’s hands and read the page. “‘The little devil harlot’—is he fucking serious with this, Arthur? The Queen of Engston and _my mate_ , ‘a devil harlot?’” He stared at the page, fuming.

Arthur squeezed Eames’ bicep, peering over his shoulder. “Keep reading.”

“‘The little devil harlot was lifted up high by his knees until only his head and shoulders remained on the floor. The _second_ pirate kept hold of his legs as the first continued to pump the mewling omega full of his thick, white essence. It trickled down his bottom and past his balls, as the captive had been ridden hard by _most of the others on board and his cup already well overflowed with tokens from each of those burly men_ ’—Arthur, for goodness sake! I’m going to burn these, then drag him out of his grave and burn him too—”

“No, keep going,” Arthur pleaded. “I swear it gets better still.”

Eames turned to look at him, completely floored. “You’re honestly enjoying this?”

Arthur pressed his body tight to Eames’ back, still peering at him from under his lashes. He took one of Eames’ hands and put it under his tunic. His own hand cupped Eames’ length through his codpiece. “Something tells me you’re enjoying this as well, your Majesty, in spite of your outrage.” His smile really _was_ the devil’s, bashful and lewd all at once. “There’s a part in the next paragraph about me choking on the captain’s horn as I’m ridden by two of the other pirates at the same time.”

Eames swallowed, feeling dizzy. Arthur was right. He hadn’t exactly ever pictured his sweet, innocent omega in this extreme of a fantasy, but the thought of reclaiming him, after massacring all these weak betas who’d dared to touch what was his…

He had Arthur on the bed, in the pillows, before he could blink again. Arthur happily lifted his tunic and untied his stockings. He spread his legs wide, his fingers skillfully freeing Eames’ cock and stroking it as Eames lay on his side, the book open between them. Eames thrust his cock in Arthur’s grip as he turned to a random passage in the book several pages along. 

“You’ve been captured again in this one, it seems,” Eames remarked, his fingers pushed deep into Arthur’s heat. “‘The boy had led them on a merry chase, but he’d grown tired and was nearly overtaken. His tunic had been ripped off and discarded in the high grass some few paces back. He’d thought himself safe hiding up in the trees, but the soldiers only climbed up behind him and pulled him down. The smallest horn seized his tight, virginal channel first, shaping the way for the others to follow after. The men rode the thieving omega with delight, making him pay with his youthful body for what he’d stolen from them’—good god, Arthur—‘Each man made a fountain with the boy, for as their seed was pumped into him, the omega’s own essence poured out from his cock and onto the grass.

“‘However, there were too many men still yet to ride him, and the boy’s pleasure was nearly all spent. But, in an act of charity to these hungering men, the omega freed his mouth from the cock he’d been suckling and suggested a different passage for those left to use. Alas, as they rode him on his belly, with a man under him and one over him, the soldiers found this path to be as untrodden as his first passage had been. They rejoiced in his second deflowering.’ Oh my god.” Eames moaned into Arthur’s neck as Arthur came around his fingers.

Arthur pushed the book away. “Eames, please.” He pulled Eames over him, moaning desperately when Eames grabbed his legs under his knees, mimicking the drawing of the pirate, and drove into Arthur with abandon. He gathered his tunic high on his chest to toy with his own nipples when Eames tore off his belt. He stroked his cock quickly, his eyes closed and his lips parted. Eames grunted over him, his hold on Arthur’s legs leaving bruises. Arthur was near screaming when Eames’ thrusts pushed him up the headboard. His body was overcome with rapture a second time when Eames’ knot swelled inside him. They collapsed together.

“If you dare to burn those books,” Arthur panted under Eames’ bulk, still trembling from his release, “then I swear to god, I will never let you fuck me again. Ever.”

Eames hummed into Arthur’s hair, unable to say more than that.

+

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for missing the update last week! This in no way makes up for it, but more's on the way! Enjoy! :D

+

 

Eames wanted to run to Arthur’s rooms. He didn’t even bother to glance at the people who bowed as he passed. The somnacin was ready. He and Yusuf had been tested it all week. He itched to use it with Arthur.

He was contemplating sending Arthur’s tutor home early just to get back to Yusuf’s study at once, but he almost ran over the elderly tutor when he rounded the corridor.

“My apologies, your Majesty!” The feeble beta’s cane wobbled as he bowed.

Eames caught the man’s shoulders to stop him from bending any lower. “Nonsense, Mr. Grant. It’s entirely my fault.” He paused. “You’re leaving awfully early. The morning’s just over.”

“Oh, yes well, Arthur’s been so very studious lately, always with his head in his books, so I decided cut the day short—if you don’t mind, of course, your Majesty.”

“Yeah?” Eames’ chest swelled with pride. “That’s fantastic.” He rushed into the parlor, smiling to see him still wrapped up in his book.

That was, until he realized what book it was. “Oh, for god’s sake, Arthur, is _that_ what you’ve been reading this whole time?”

Arthur frowned, turning the book upside down. “I still don’t understand this one,” he whispered. “Eames, is this position really possible?”

Eames clenched and unclenched his fists. It took nearly everything he had in him not to envision Arthur in such a shameless pose. He waved his hand when Arthur tried to show him the page. He didn’t need to take a closer look. He knew that position quite well.

“Can we try thi—”

“Arthur,” Eames warned, his hands on his hips.

“Fine,” he grumbled, slumping in his chair. “I didn’t mean to make you cross with me.” He glanced up at him through his lashes. “Sorry, papa.”

His codpiece instantly became much too tight. Eames groaned and covered his face, missing Arthur’s smirk. “Get up, little monster.” He pointed Arthur to his bedroom. “Go. Quickly. Now.”

Arthur snickered and ran to his room, taking the book with him.

+

 

“You tricked me,” Arthur said glaring at Eames as Yusuf hummed about the room, preparing the somnacin brew. “I thought we were going to—” he glanced at the elder werewolf and couldn’t finish his sentence. He squirmed in his chair again, blushing deeply.

Eames smirked. “You tricked your tutor first. You made him think that you were studying, when in truth the history of the Isles was the last thing on your mind. You needed to be disciplined.”

“No one’s ever done…what you did to me before.” He squirmed again, certain Eames’ handprints would be on his sore ass for days now.

“I’d certainly hope not.” He shook his head when Arthur stared lustfully at his big hands as Eames strummed them on the arms of his chair. “Although,” Eames whispered, “I worry that you may have enjoyed it a little too much.”

Arthur snapped out of his daydreaming and glared again. He cleared his throat loudly. “Of course I... Of course I didn't. That was cruel. Plus, I don’t see why I have to learn about war and conquest, anyways. It’s not like it'll ever be useful to me, of all people.”

Eames studied him for a long moment before he huffed. “It’s always good to be prepared and knowledgeable in all circumstances.”

“Well…I’ve learned just as much from my history books as those others…”

Before Eames could comment further, the heavy, earthy scent of the crushed somnacin leaves and soaking roots filled the room as the water boiled in the pot.

Arthur was nervous when Yusuf handed him his cup. He saw Eames chug his down, instantly getting drowsy. He peered into the cup suspiciously. 

“Drink it quickly the moment it cools,” Yusuf explained. “Then when you start to feel sleepy, take the King’s hand so that you both can dream together. Have fun.”

Arthur gagged at first on the surprising taste. It was incredibly bitter and spicy, but he pinched his nose and drank it all. Eames was already asleep when he glanced over. “Is his stronger, your Grace?”

“Werewolf blood burns through everything rather quickly, so yes. But also, he’s just been drinking the brew relentlessly, so his body’s more used to it. Just relax, Majesty," he assured him. "It’ll start to work soon enough.”

He was right. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He took Eames’ hand, blinked, and found his vision a little blurry as he stood in the middle of a moss-covered clearing in a thick forest. He was sure he was in the woods just beyond the palace, but the trees were so much taller, the leaves and grass near inpenetrable beyond the clearing. The smell of the somnacin followed him here, clung to the misty air and down his nose. 

“How did I get here?” There was no one around to answer. He rub at his eyes, but his vision was still unclear.

“Give it a few more rounds,” he heard the voice echo behind him, “and everything will be clear as real life.”

Eames stood on the trunk of a massive, fallen tree. He eyed Arthur with wonder when he jumped down. “Wow,” he breathed. “You look like an angel, glowing in those lovely white robes and pearls. Beautiful.”

Arthur looked down at himself and only saw a plain, brown tunic. Nothing like what he would normally wear. It was much too boring and frayed. “Really?”

“Yes, my darling. Exquisite. Even the silver crown on your hair glitters like a thousand diamonds.”

But there wasn’t anything on Arthur’s head.

”And what do you think of these fine garments?” Eames puffed out his chest and turned in a circle for Arthur to see. “We matched, though, these furs make me look like a bear to your dove,” he beamed.

Arthur hid his frown. He expected to see Eames’ kingly clothes appear the way they did in Eames’ mind, but Eames looked quite poor in his own clothes, though it was obvious that Eames couldn’t see what Arthur saw, and Arthur could not see the angel Eames saw. "Very handsome." He wondered what it could mean.

“So,” Eames smiled, “we can do whatever we want here. Any ideas, darling? Yusuf and I have been building castles and scaling the mountains.”

Arthur thought it over for a long while. “Could we have sex on a cloud?”

“Ha! Oh, I love your imagination!” He strutted forward with his arms open, ready to pick Arthur up.

But Arthur stopped him at the last minute. “Actually, no. I agree with what you said earlier. I’ve been spending too much time with my head in the wrong place. Let’s do something else.”

His arms fell. “Darling…but…”

He hushed him and closed his eyes, concentrating hard. "I know just the thing."

Eames was about to ask him what he was doing when a giant lungful of steaming breath blew past him.

Arthur blinked, looking behind Eames. “It worked!”

Eames stood still as a statue for several minutes, trying to fathom what Arthur had done. “Arthur…you dreamed up…a bloody full grown _dragon_?” He turned around, in shock to see Arthur petting the dragon’s nose.

“Of course. He’s gorgeous. Even his scales are hot to touch!” He ran his hands down the dragon's jaw. "What do dragons eat? Do you think we could fly on his back?"

Eames tried to stay calm though he could feel the need to shift prickling at the back of his neck. He swallowed. “Arthur, do you know what happens when we die in a dream like this?”

Arthur’s hand stilled. “No.”

“Neither do I.”

He paled. "Oh...I see. I made a mistake, didn't I?"

"Well, on the bright side, there's some chance, you may be able to brag that you're the only person in history to have every petted a dragon, depending on what happens in the next minute or two. Take my hand." He inched forward, his hand reaching out slowly as the beast's eyes zeroed in on Arthur as the perfect prey.

As soon as Arthur stepped back, the dragon growled. A twig snapped under Arthur’s foot and the next thing he knew, Eames’ wolf form had Arthur's arm in his mouth, rushing them both away as the dragon’s wings expanded. They weren’t fast enough. The fire that consumed everything around them was blinding just before the burn.

They both woke up gasping for air as if they’d nearly drowned, still clutching each other’s hand.

“What on earth happened?” Yusuf demanded. “Are you alright? Should I call the doctor?”

Eames waved his hands. “No,” he choked. “We’re fine. My god, that was exhilarating! Fuck me, Arthur, did you feel that?”

Arthur sank low in his chair, his eyes wide and his skin flushed. He blood still felt like it was boiling in his veins. “That was…”

Eames jumped out of his chair, startling Yusuf. He quickly boiled more of the somnacin to put them back under. "Keep a close eye on us, Yusuf."

"Of course, Majesty but—"

They woke up on a boat in the middle of a vast sea.

“What are we doing here?” Arthur looked to Eames. He still didn't feel well from the first dream. 

“No idea. I haven’t figured out how to control where we land yet, although, your dragon creation was impressive, Arthur. Think of a sea monster. Quickly.”

Arthur frowned, suddenly feeling exhausted. “But we died last time. I think I’d much prefer sex on a cloud after all.”

“Come on, Arthur. Just once more?”

He sighed as Eames’ insistence.

They didn’t even see the monster under the water when it appeared beneath them and swallowed the boat whole.

When Arthur woke up this time, he was on the floor, with a worried Yusuf trying to pick him up. His skin tingled, his brain turned to a bowl of mush, his throat raw, and his eye stinging. But still...there was something indescribable about the whole thing, some entirely new feeling deep inside him. Dying in the dreams felt like the greatest pleasure imaginable. As his first symptoms continued to lessen, he could could his body reacting as if he’d orgasmed a dozen times.

“Fuck, it just keeps getting better!” Eames proclaimed. He looked frayed, his eyes wide. "Yusuf, you must come down with us! You wouldn’t believe what dying is like.” 

When the three of them joined hands and went under, they were already freefalling from the sky, hurtling towards the ground. Yusuf screamed the whole way down. Eames and Arthur never lost their hold on one another.  

They all woke from the dream with a groan.

“I don’t get it,” Yusuf moaned, hurrying to a jar to catch his sick. "That was horrifying, Majesty. Utterly terrible."

“Let’s not do that again, husband,” Arthur agreed. He clutched at his own stomach. “I still feel like my insides are outside.” He glanced at Eames, but the alpha was already up and mixing more brew. “I’ve had enough for today, I think.”

“One more? Please?” Eames grinned as both Yusuf and Arthur groaned again. 

Arthur was saved by a message from his lady that Paul had arrived. He couldn’t feel his legs when he first tried to stand, and had to marvel at Eames’ strength. The alpha didn’t seem affected in the slightest.

+

 

His head didn’t clear until he was nearly back in his rooms.

“Goodness, Arthur, you look like hell,” Paul said, looking him over worried.

“I’m sure,” he grumbled, finding a chair to sit in. He clutched his head.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine. How was your trip?”

“Good. How are Joseph and the King? I hear you’ve had another little one.”

“They’re all doing fine. I doubt if you could honestly call the youngest a ‘little one’ though. I swear if I didn’t die the first time around, he nearly took me out of this world even after he was born, but…I love that big boy. He’s still growing so fast. Joseph as well. Granted, he’s certain to take more after me than his father. And what of your family, Paul?”

“The wife is with child.”

Arthur rubbed his face. “That’s wonderful.” He was happy, but it didn’t come through in his voice at all. He suppressed another groan.

“As is her mistress,” his brother said to his lap.

“Oh, Paul.” He tsked and really looked at his brother for the first time, now that he could see straight. “You’re wearing black.”

Paul nodded when he sighed. “I am. That’s the main reason why I’ve come, actually. I,” he glanced around the room, “I have a new letter for you, from Mal, but my visit with her was cut short, you see.” He stared at his hands. “Father has past. He…he died not long after your mother sent for me and Gerard, as we were both abroad.”

Arthur opened his mouth to concur that he’d heard Paul, but nothing could come out at first. What could he say of a man he’d hardly known to a brother who’d clearly always loved that same man? “I’m sorry, Paul.”

He managed a quick smile. “Don’t be sorry for me, dearest brother. Feel for the realm’s subjects, who are now under Michel’s command. He plans to run the country like a convent.”

“Were you able to see him, father, before he died?”

The answer was clear on Paul’s face. “Arthur, we don’t have to talk about this, if—”

“It’s alright. I remember the last time I saw him, he didn’t even speak to me. So odd that he’s been said to have loved my mother and yet…”

“No, no, no, Arthur. That’s madness. They both love you very much. The problem is that, as I’m sure you know well now as a sovereign yourself, that such a high status often commands all the time a man has. You look at your newborn one week and before you know it, they’re getting married and having kids of their own, and you’re left on your deathbed wondering where all the time went. He did ask about you, Arthur. He even sent you these gifts here.” Paul waved a hand at the large trunk against the wall. He sighed, understanding why Arthur wasn't overly impressed or reassured. He stood, looking pained. “As your older brother, I’ll gladly permit you the chance to mourn in private for now, to give you some time, and will return tomorrow.”

Arthur blinked out of his fog and stood with him. “Yes, of course. Thank you. You must be tired from the voyage. I’ll send Jeremy and a groom with you to get you settled in properly.” He watched him leave wanted to shout after him or throw a book at his head. He hated when Paul behaved like his other brothers, void of all comfort or care when it was needed the most. Arthur may not have known the man, but King Miles was still—had still been—his father, and Paul still his brother and still clearly in need of his own comforting.

He was dressed in the black mourning clothes he was only permitted to wear in private, and laid on his bed to read his holy books, though they too possessed nothing that would ease his mind. He had the attendants call on Eames, knowing that his presence might do the trick.

The minutes ticked by to hours. Arthur had read the same page of the holy book so many times his head ached again, but still the King had not shown.

He meant to have the attendants send for him again when the door creaked opened.

Arthur sat up enough to see who was there, but frowned when he saw no one. He was startled by the soft pitter-patter of scuttling feet on the floor. A small wolf face and paws peeked over the edge of the bed as a second pup tried to climb up the bedpost with no success before they both disappeared again.

“Joseph?” Arthur asked.

The larger pup leaped up the bed with the smaller one’s nape held firmly in his mouth. Both wolves scrambled up the bed to lick and paw at Arthur as they let loose a stream of high-pitched howls, proudly showing him their vocal skills.

Lady Catherine rushed into the room, flanked by her ladies and bowed quickly. “Forgive me, Majesty. We were preparing their baths when Joseph caused his brother to transform.”

“And they ran away, all the way here?” He beamed, laughing when the pups continued to howl together, standing over Arthur’s legs.

“Our sincerest apologies, your Majesty.”

“Nonsense, Madam. I could do for some company. I'll have Lady Miriam call you when they're ready to return to the nursery.” He turned over with a pleased smiled. “Look at you, Thomas!” Arthur rubbed his ears and belly when the wolf wiggled on his back beside him, watching his mother with love showing even through his golden eyes and goofy pup's grin. "Your papa is going to hate that he missed this, but hopefully that'll teach him a lesson not to ignore his summons, wherever he is. He's probably still dreaming."

He’d never seen Thomas as a wolf before. The white and tawny pup was nearly twice Joseph’s size though he wasn’t even a year old.

Joseph stopped his howling to watch Arthur dote on his little brother. He whined and tried to climb over Thomas to claim his mother’s attention, but Thomas rolled him off. They growled at each other, both showing off their dominance to intimidate the other.

It was quite an endearing thing to witness until Joseph launched his head into Thomas’s hind leg like a battering ram, trying to force him to submit, but the larger wolf whined pitifully and pawed at Joseph until the smaller wolf fell over. Arthur stopped Thomas from sitting on his brother.

“Alright, that’s enough, you two.” Arthur picked up Joseph the way he used to with Sophie and turned on his side to snuggle with him, effectively separating the two from fighting.

Only now, Thomas looked at Arthur giving his brother all his affection with dismay. He forced his nose under Arthur’s arm until he could get most of his body into the cuddle as well. Joseph and Thomas both licked Arthur’s face until he laughed and petted them both to sleep. 

When Eames at last arrived in the early morning hours, all three were fast asleep; Joseph still tucked under Arthur’s arm and Thomas sleeping half on Arthur’s back and half on his head. 

+

 

“Where on earth were you?” Arthur demanded over breakfast.

“I was with Yusuf.”

“You had an extremely important treaty meeting that you missed, Majesty, and your boys came to visit, but you weren’t here to receive them or my brother.”

“But darling, what can be done now? The advancements Yusuf and I have already made with the somnacin are extraordinary. We could use it on our soldiers, train them combat without ever having to step foot in a real battlefield until they’re ready.”

“That’s wonderful, Majesty, but such a measure might be unnecessary, in the event that the treaty meeting’s not postponed for a _sixth_ time. You mustn’t forget your promise. Peacemaking has to go both ways, and so far, if you don’t mind me saying, of course, you’ve kept King Dominic waiting far longer than any man ought to be made to.”

Eames watched Arthur butter his toast with a look that proved beyond a doubt that he cared little for talk of treaties. He leaned in close with a lewd grin. “You’re right, as always. Today, I shall be on my best behavior and tend to my duties. But first…give me a place to sheathe my war sword and I’ll show you my real peacemaker, darling.”

Arthur glared at him deadpan, feeling Eames’ hand slide beneath his tunic under the table. He blushed, trying to hide his smirk. “Majesty, stop that.”

“Just allow my cannons to stay planted firmly in your trenches, darling—”

“Eames, stop,” he muttered. “That doesn’t sound as erotic as you think it does.” But it was no use saying anything. Eames was on a roll.

“My phoenix in your nest… Serenade you with my silent flute…” He was even winking and nudging Arthur’s arm. “Tickle your kidneys.”

Arthur tried to suppress his laugh too late, covering his mouth. “You’re worse than I am with those books!” he hissed, still attempting modesty with the attendants and servants watching them. “At least I memorized positions, not any of those terrible innuendos.”

“Can you imagine how filthy those books would be if he’d truly known how alphas and omegas copulate?”

Arthur grimaced. “No, no. I much prefer pretending that the books magically created themselves, instead of thinking at all about the man who’d written them.”

“Definitely true. Perish all thought of what I previously said. Now,” his brow rose as he stood, “should I leave my clothes on when we get to your bed, or take them all off? That’s the only question we ought to be contemplating.”

Arthur couldn’t agree more.

+

 


	19. Chapter 19

+

 

Arthur was awoken in the middle of the night by something heavy crushing his left side. He wiggled out from under it, still dozing, until he noticed how impossibly wet he was.

He moaned and choked fully awake. “Eames? What the hell?”

Eames groaned and stretched, mumbling something as he too woke up in a less than wholesome state. Now that he was awake, he glanced over at Arthur. “My rut’s tried to surprise us this time. The bastard.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. Then you have to leave, Eames. You can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

Eames’ pouting gripped at Arthur’s heart. “Remember, papa, it’s only been a handful of months since I had Thomas.”

He hummed. “I do forget sometimes with his size.”

“Right. So, you have to leave. I’m in no shape to have another.”

“Thank god at least one of us has the capacity to think straight, darling. I’ll go, and perhaps…see you when it’s over? You and the boys could go on a holiday to one of your houses in the meantime.”

For some reason, thinking of leaving made Arthur’s chest hurt. He nodded. “Good. Thank you, pa—Majesty.”

“Good night, my darling. And safe travels tomorrow, alright?” Eames leaned forward to kiss Arthur’s forehead but instead his tongue ended up in his mouth. They kissed feverously, grabbing each other’s nightgowns under the sheets.

Arthur summoned up his will power and nudged Eames back.

“Oh god. Sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Alright. I’m leaving this time. Good night, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded, still feeling his arousal soak through his clothes. “Majesty.”

Eames threw off the covers to leave. The full force of his heady scent and Arthur’s hit them both at once. Hard.

“This is bad,” Arthur panted, gripping Eames’ hair as he devoured his lush lips.

“Not bad,” he muttered between kisses. He tore open Arthur’s gown. “We just…must…be…careful.” He moaned when Arthur sucked deep bruises into his stubble-covered neck. He grinned and pulled Arthur under him, his cock gliding in his slickness.

Arthur managed to pull away for a moment. “Wait. Wait! Eames, get the oil.”

He moved to reach for it but groaned. “No, no, no, I can't have you there, I need you _here_.”

Arthur’s head fell back against the pillows when Eames’ cock head push in. “But we can’t. You’re rut is too strong now to risk it.”

“Darling, please? It’s been ages since we knotted. Just this once, like we did before. If you ride me, we'll be fine.”

Arthur breathed in another lungful of their mixed scents and trembled just thinking about that particular kind of stretch and fullness that only a knot could bring that would send him into raptures long missed and much longed for. He groaned in frustration. “I need it. Give it to me.”

He climbed onto Eames’ lap. They both shouted when Arthur sank onto his throbbing cock and ground his hips. His nails dug into Eames’ chest as he bounced, greedy and drunk on Eames' scent. Eames watched him ride his cock in a daze, swallowed whole by the intensity of their fucking.

Arthur came quietly, tumbling backwards onto the bed as Eames lapped up his come.

All sense of care vanished. Eames lifted him back onto his cock and groaned when Arthur squeezed around the base. Eames had never fucked Arthur harder before. He turned them, pressing Arthur's back flush against the bedboard and covered him with his bulk, caged him in and floated away to the sweet sounds of Arthur’s whimpering gasps, grunting when Arthur’s slender fingers scratched deep in his back and shoulders. It was a dream, heaven, some ecstasy his mind could not describe with the lowly words of mortals.

Arthur’s hair was wild around his flushed face, his lips bitten and red, his skin was covered in bruises and nips from neck to chest, and all the while, Eames held him captive in his lap in the embrace of his thick arms wrapped around Arthur’s little waist.

In his rut Eames roared when Arthur bit him. He turned him around and kept him pinned to the headboard, holding him in place with his teeth latched onto Arthur’s neck. Though he was crushed between the board and Eames, Arthur still pushed back into everything Eames gave him until they both came, shouting curses at each other as Eames’ knot swelled.

“Eames?” Arthur muttered, still held in Eames' lap as they tried to regain their bearings.

“Hm?” he heard Eames grunt into his heaving back.

“Am I dead? Did I die? Because that was…”

Eames tried to shrug, but his shoulder burned and his muscles had all been turned to a bag of down feathers. “I think so…I know I died too. Definitely.”

“Oh…okay.” He winced when Eames tried to shift the knot. “Feel better?”

“Mhm.”

“Good… Let’s do that again.”

“The second I can feel my legs? Yeah, darling…we definitely ought to.”

+

 

Arthur was surprised to wake at noon and more than annoyed when he learned why. Eames had left his bed in the early morning as he always did, but instead of attending his meetings, he’d spent his time with the somnacin and didn’t summon Arthur for breakfast in the hopes that the omega wouldn’t notice Eames neglecting his duties again.

It was any wonder Mal’s husband hadn’t backed out of the treaty yet.

Whatever his and Eames’ pheromones had shielded him from feeling the night before, Arthur definitely felt it now. He ignored all the giggles and hidden smiles from the attendants and grimaced as he made his way to the King’s chambers for an overdue breakfast.

He shook his head at his husband’s charming smile when he sat across from him. Now Arthur knew where Joseph got his from; the kind of smile when he knew he was trouble for scratching Lady Catherine and hoping to avoid Arthur’s glare. “I’m surprised to see you so energized, your Majesty, considering the fact that you haven’t slept since…” He eyed Eames’ neck where all his bites had disappeared.

Eames chuckled, sharing the memory. He breathed in Arthur’s scent, remembering how perfectly they had intertwined last night. His face fell. “Oh my god…”

“Hm?” He looked up from his milk.

Eames swallowed, bracing himself. “Your scent’s ch—”

“No. I told you before, your idea of a joke isn’t very funny, Eames. You’ll jinx me if you say that again.”

“Darling…” He held up his hands. “I’m not joking. Your scent—”

“Eames, please. I’m too sore and annoyed with you. Don't push me.”

“Arthur, I’m telling you the truth.” His face told no lies.

Arthur’s mouth opened and closed twice before his eyes went wide.

Eames snorted at his expression and threw back his head with laughter. “Oh my god. We’re having another baby.” He doubled over in an uproar of hysterics. “My god,” he wheezed. “Oh, how I pity any girl who uses our method of contraception, darling.”

Arthur stated back, before he snapped. “You certainly don’t pity _me_ , though, do you?” Before Eames could say more, Arthur tossed up his hands and shooed away his attendants as he stood to leave.

“Arthur, what’s the matter with you?” Eames tried to embrace him, but was met with a glare.

“I’m tired—Don’t follow me.” He was at the door when a thought struck him. He paused. “Did you know this would happen? Was that the plan?”

Eames huffed. “Seriously? Are you…” Angrily he sent off the attendants. “Arthur, of course I didn’t! It worked before, remember? You didn’t conceive a child all those other times.”

“You weren’t having your rut those times.”

“Well…” He scratched his beard. “I’ll just have to be extra careful next time, but…none of this stops me from being overjoyed. Arthur, we’re having another baby. Aren’t you happy too?”

His hands balled into fists. “Eames, you don’t understand. I’m tired.”

“Then rest. You've been working so hard with the boys and on the observatory. You deserve to rest.”

“No, I’m _tired_ -tired. I meant what I said, Eames. I wanted a break, a chance to do more than sleep all the time. I’m still… _more than a little relaxed down there_ from having Thomas," he blushed, embarrassed, "which I know you’ve noticed, and my breast haven’t fully gone away yet," he crossed his arms self-consciously over his chest, "but already, I’m having our third? My body cannot handle this.”

“Arthur, I’m sorry. I am, but, darling, what can we do? What if we’re having a girl? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

His shoulders sank. “It would, yes, of course.” He covered his stomach. “That would be lovely, but it would be just as lovely if we’d conceived her a year from now.”

“I know, but…at least now, she won’t have to be so far apart in age from her brothers. She won’t have to miss learning how to hunt with them, or their lessons with the tutors. After she, or he, is born, then we could take a break." He took Arthur's hands and massaged his palms. "Since we can't outrun our heats while we're in them, I’ll figure out how to time these hellish ruts in advance so we can plan this next time.”

Arthur sighed. “But what if we have another boy?” His eyes narrowed when Eames grinned. He snatched his hands out of Eames' light hold. “Would you have my belly remain full until we _do_ have a daughter? You would, wouldn’t you?”

“No!” He tilted his head. “But…”

“Never mind.”

“Arthur—”

“I’m happy. I am. I’m just going to lie down. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast, if my resting doesn’t start before then. If it does, well I suppose…I’ll see you next month, won’t I?”

+

 

He _did_ see him the next day, and the day after, and the day after that.

Arthur stared down at his stomach. “What’s the matter with me? Why aren’t I sleeping right now?”

Ariadne shrugged, pealing an apple for him. “You’re still yawning, though.”

“It’s been three weeks and nothing’s happened more than that. My resting will over before it's even begun. That's not normal.”

Everyone continued to ponder this as another week passed, especially Eames.

It didn’t hit Arthur until he was halfway back to his chambers from the chapel that something could be wrong.

He slowed to a halt in the corridor and grabbed Ariadne’s hand. He excused the attendants and walked quickly with her back to the chapel.

He sat down at the first pew they reached as if he’d swooned. “Ariadne," he pressed his hand protectively over his stomach, "what if…what if I cursed the baby by accident? What if… I mean, I barely sleep at night at all, and my stomach is still flat! It should at least be a tiny bit rounded by now, but nothing's happening!" He watched her face fall and lowered his eyes, unable to look at her pained expression. "I was so upset to be with child again, and I’ve been so cross with Eames, but I never wanted it to…to…”

“Oh no." She squeezed his hands. "Oh no, Arthur. We must go talk to Lady Catherine.”

 

Jeremy was given the unpleasant task of giving the King Arthur’s message.

Arthur curtsied low when Eames arrived in the parlor. He felt like a scared child, quaking where he stood, his shoulders hunched. He swallowed. “Your Majesty—”

“Come with me.” Eames led him into his bedroom and made him sit on the bed as he closed the door behind them.

Arthur wiped at his eyes. “Eames, I—”

“Hush.” He knelt at Arthur’s feet. “Arthur, if…” He cleared his throat. “If it is as you feared, and the child truly is lost, then…then there is no help for it. We will… We'll accept the child’s death and move forward—Arthur, look at me—But, if your fears turn out to be false, then don’t fret." He took his face in hand. "It’s still early. Too early for me to smell more than just your own scent change. Perhaps this child is just different. It’s possible, but until we can know for sure, then there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?” He stroked Arthur’s hands and kissed them, but Arthur didn’t look convinced.

Eames sat on the bed beside him and wrapped him in his arms. “It’s alright, Arthur. I know my words are of little comfort to an omega fearing for their child, but… Let’s give it another month, deal? We'll figure out what to do from there.”

“But you promise you won’t be angry if… Because I swear, Eames," he pleaded, gripping Eames' hands. "I swear I would never wish for something like this to happen.”

“I know, darling, I know. I mean…worse case scenario is just that maybe I got it wrong this time about your scent, or…maybe your pheromones are off, right? Then you get to have to time you wanted, and you can spend every waking hour reading those erotic books or finalizing the observatory, or even start on a brand new project for the city, and we can go horseback riding together, dream together, we can have more accidental sleepovers in the observatory like we used to… Remember?”

Arthur smiled. “Of course I do." He wiped at his eyes again. "Those are some of my most treasured memories.”

“Well, hey! Let’s do that tonight then. Would that make you feel a little better, to spend the night looking at your stars?”

All it took was a shy nod and Eames cancelled the rest of his meetings for the day. As the candelabras were lit throughout the palace, Arthur piggybacked on Eames up the stairs in the tower with Eames’ grooms and Jeremy following behind them.

+

 

“I don’t think Jeremy’s much comfortable around your grooms, Eames,” Arthur whispered as he sat in Eames’ lap beside the sextant.

The boy was sitting off to himself, pretending to read while the grooms played cards and glanced at him over their shoulders.

“Because most of my boys want to fuck him,” Eames said, matter-of-fact. “He’s slight, delicate, and mysterious to them since he doesn’t spend much time away from your ladies. Hell, some of the boys are probably envious and think he’s sleeping with a few of said ladies.”

“I hope so…” Arthur let his head fall back on Eames’ shoulder and glanced at Jeremy, pitying him for catching one boy’s glance and blushing behind his book.

He had a brief moment of remembering when Eames made him burn Robert’s letters. For however wayward Sir Robert— _King_ Robert—may be now, there had still been a time when Arthur had imagined being more than friendly with the man, before he knew the laws. Jeremy was a lot like he'd been, but Jeremy was a real beta, like the boy now sharing more than a few glances with him. 

“Eames?”

“Hm?”

“If I were a beta, or even if we were both betas, would you still have wanted me?”

The question was asked so suddenly and so quietly it took Eames off guard, but it didn’t take any time at all to consider. “No."

"No?"

"No, no, no. Absolutely not. I know your kind, and if I were a wise beta, I would know to stay far away from you.”

“But—”

“You, Arthur, and all your quiet, bookish charm, with your wicked smile and soft hands, would have utterly and completely bewitched me. It would be no secret, in the entire continent, that I pined for you, but you would have taken one look at me and, seeing only a beast, would have scorned me most cruelly. You would have assumed that I intended to possess you, but knowing you, Arthur, you wouldn’t have realized that all the same I would have hoped for you to possess me as well.”

Arthur turned around to look at him, agape. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not?” He grinned. “Would you have wanted someone who would woo you with a dragon’s head or someone who could compose melodies and poetry for you instead?”

“Well…”

Eames chuckled. “Precisely. You would have run for the hills, darling.”

“But what if I wanted you?”

He smiled, holding Arthur snug in his arms. “Then we would have been here, like this, although, sadly without our little ones.”

“And we wouldn’t be married. We couldn’t be.”

“True.” His brow furrowed. “Would you have wanted a wife? A beta woman to have children with?”

Arthur shook his head. “My heart can only bend in one direction. I would have wanted you and no one else. And I doubt any woman would have wanted me, considering the fact that I would be your boy, sharing you with your wife.” He shifted in Eames’ lap so he could rest his head on his shoulder again. “I wonder how many others must live like that?”

Eames shrugged, contemplative as well. 

They watched the night sky in silence until another thought came to Arthur. He turned to look at Eames and smirked. “What if _I_ were an alpha and you an omega or beta?”

Eames at once made a peculiar sound and a strange expression. “You just committed treason, Arthur,” he teased. “ _However_ …I can say that you as an alpha would be terrifying. You little-boned people can be tyrants.” He laughed with Arthur. “I’m a little afraid of Joseph on that count. He’ll still be big since he’s an alpha wolf, but lean and compact and never as big as Thomas—Joseph will _hate_ that.”

“Let’s just enjoy the bond they have now, and…take shelter in a fortified castle once they’re older.”

Eames laughed again. After another quiet moment, he muttered, “God, I would have made one _awful_ omega. I still bow in awe at what you’ve accomplished, Arthur. Our boys are perfect—since they don’t have personalities yet.”

“ _Eames_.”

“Of course, when they get older, we’ll be able to properly pick our favorites.”

“You’re awful.”

He laughed and kissed Arthur’s head. “Arthur?”

“Hm?”

He rubbed Arthur’s sleeves and squeezed his arms. “You know, if we’re not having a baby, then…we do at least have that mind-numbing night of sex to remember for the rest of our days, as it was…pretty spectacular.”

“It was,” he mused, laughing quietly with Eames, feeling his chest rise and fall as he settled closer. “ _But_?”

Eames sighed. “If we _are_ having a child, then I _am_ happy, because I love you, and I love what we’ve created together.”

Arthur took his hand. “I know, Eames." He kissed his chin. "I love you too," he whispered, "even if you’re beast who can’t write me poetry.”

+

 

“Good morning, your Majesty,” Eames bowed playfully for Arthur the next morning after they dressed for breakfast.

Arthur’s eyes were on the servant’s trays as they covered the table with sliced ham, fruit bowls, and quail’s eggs. He cleared his throat and smiled brightly, fidgeting with his belt. “Thank you, Majesty.”

“You look lov…” Eames blinked when Arthur’s stomach turned. “Well,” he grimaced, cringing as Arthur doubled over again, “do you think it’s—It is, yeah? Oh darling, I liked these boots.” He watched the attendants help Arthur to his chair. Jeremy looked miserable, trying not to touch anything as he got Eames out of his soiled boots. “Feel better?”

“No,” Arthur moaned from behind a napkin. Putting him in the chair closer to the food only made him sick again. “You’ll pay for this. Mark my words.”

“Believe me, I don't doubt that, my darling.” To the great relief of the attendants and servants, Eames picked Arthur up and carried him out of the parlor before another rug could be ruined. 

+

  


	20. Chapter 20

+

 

“This is a very peculiar child, Eames,” Arthur muttered, poking at his little round belly through his clothes. “It’ll be no bigger than a peach when it’s born. Are you sure you can’t scent its sex yet?”

Eames shook his head, distraction from all the people enjoying the celebratory dances for Arthur’s birthday. He sat up in his throne and sighed. “The child is healthy, Arthur. I scent nothing wrong with at all, it's just…being overly mysterious, I suppose." He shrugged. "It’s an _alpha_ , yes, but…”

“An alpha? This small?” Arthur couldn’t keep the apprehension out of his voice. He sank low in his own ornate chair. "I don't know, Eames…"

He squeezed his hand. “Everything’s fine, I’m sure. We’re just…having an apple for a baby this time around, instead of another sack of potatoes like Thomas. Just enjoy your birthday, darling. In four and a half months, we’ll find out. A nice surprise, yeah?”

“I suppose so.” He didn’t voice what he really felt, not this time, at least. Something had to be wrong with this child. Four months, going in five, and Arthur was only just beginning to show. With Thomas and Joseph, he’d been at nearly his full size by this many months. He still had to have a resting period, or that bizarre drunkenness he’d felt with the others. It scared him, that Eames couldn’t scent the child. All of these things felt as if his body was telling them they'd rushed too soon into having another child, but yet…His body felt utterly normal, as if he weren’t pregnant at all. He could still even fit into his tunics and doublets. Something strange was afoot indeed.

Eames laughed at him when they sat together for the birthday dinner in the great hall, after the court had given their gifts. “You’re still tiny, but you’re certainly still eating to two. May I have my slice of cake back, little monster? No? Then I’ll remember this when my own birthday comes around. You won’t even be invited.”

+

 

Arthur didn’t want to say anything at first, but now that yet another unsuccessful treaty meeting with the ambassadors from Runes was over, he had to. “Is anything actually ever going to come out of these meetings, your Majesty?”

“Of course, darling…as soon as Dominic gives me my land back.”

“Eames, you stole that land from him. Is it not fair he gain that land back?”

“No.” Eames sat down next to Arthur in the garden, peeking over his shoulder at the book he pretended to read. “That land was claimed fair and square when he lost that battle. It’s mine.”

“You’re worse than the boys when it comes to sharing. And they’re only infants.”

Eames’ whine came out as a low growl. He busied himself by playing with Arthur’s rings. “I also don’t appreciate some of them referring to our boys as twins. What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, hm?”

Arthur sighed. “It’s no secret that Thomas essentially pushed Joseph out of my womb to make a nest for himself, Eames. People will no doubt refer to our apple as making a set of three.”

“Triplets.”

“Exactly,” he muttered, distracted by Eames’ sudden pacing. “Eames, why are you so anxious today?”

Eames looked up from the little grass doll he’d been making. “What? Who, me? I’m fine. We’re just…enjoying the sunlight together, that’s all.”

Arthur snapped his book closed and rolled his eyes. “Go.”

The King tilted his head. “Darling?”

“Go play with Yusuf and the somnacin, Eames. Your fidgeting is making me cranky.”

He sat down beside Arthur again. “Oh no, no. I’m quite fine here.”

“Oh, please, Eames. I’m boring you. Go.”

“Nonsense, darling. That’s impossible. But…” He stood and kissed Arthur’s forehead and stomach. “I’ll return for dinner in the evening. Early.”

“You mean I’ll see you tomorrow morning when you sneak into bed at dawn and wake me with sex.”

Eames frowned, scratching his beard. “We’re making loads of progress with the batch Yusuf’s grown.”

“I’m sure.” He followed Eames back into the palace. “Well, if you do manage to pull yourself away before midnight, I’ll be in the observatory with Ariadne.” He didn’t bother to hide his sadness when Eames kissed his hand, knowing for certain that the werewolf hadn’t even noticed.

 

Rather than spend the sunny day up in the tower with Arthur sulking, Ariadne proposed a better idea.

She brought with her a spare cloak and distracted the attendants as Arthur slipped into his rarely used riding boots. They’d snuck past the guards and trekked quietly to his stable to retrieve their horses, bribing the stablemen to keep quiet about Arthur being on a horse so far into his pregnancy—and completely against the order of the King, the midwives, and the doctor.

Arthur let his horse wander through the forest and nibble on the grass every now and then. He held the reins loosely in his grasp. “I just worry about him, Ariadne, all the time, it seems.”

“Maybe the child worries him as well? Perhaps this is just distraction.”

“If he were worried, he’d be hovering nonstop. Some times, I look at him and am convinced that he hardly cares. And his behavior has become…off, to put it as lightly as I can.”

She frowned, stirring her horse to walk beside Arthur’s. “How so?”

He shrugged. “He snaps at the servants, he bullies the ambassadors, he… In spite of my growing belly, he still takes me with the same reckless abandon that he would if I weren’t with child, and he never sleeps anymore. And he thinks it’s amusing that Thomas cries when he holds him. The boy doesn’t know who Eames is, Ariadne.”

She was silent in deep thought for a long while. “Did you feel any different after using the somnacin too?”

“As if my gut had been let out on the floor of Yusuf’s office. It’s horrible. Within the dreams, I feel unstable and sluggish. Yusuf says they just hadn’t figured out the right compound for me, but I don’t think I’ll be trying it again.”

“Would the duke speak to his Majesty on your behalf?”

“I doubt it. Yusuf spends the most time with Eames, so surely he would notice something amiss, but…” He shrugged, at a loss. “Between my husband and this child, I don’t have the strength to focus on anything else. I know almost for certain that the treaty will fall through. It’s taken too long, Ariadne.”

She glanced at the bump of Arthur’s round stomach under his cloak. “Wait… What’s to worry about the baby now? Has something else happened?”

He gripped the reins. “This child…it feels like dead weight in my womb, Ariadne. It hardly moves. I can hardly feel it kick… I’m due in a month and yet look at me. I’m a horse in the middle of the forests, when you know how things were before with Joseph and Thomas. Eames keeps telling me it’s healthy, but why can’t he scent it? Why…” He pulled on the reins and stopped the horse, dismounting quickly.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?”  She tied the horses to the nearest tree and hurried after him.

He was clutching his stomach protectively. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t breathe.”

“Then stop walking before you fall down. Look at me.” Ariadne sat him down carefully on a log and kneeled in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. “Breathe. Deep. Slow. Take my hands.” She massaged his palms, soothing. “Think of something that makes you happy. Imagine yourself there with that thing right now, and breathe.”

Arthur took a deep breath and moved to sit with her on the soft moss-covered ground. “Thank you.”

She smiled a little, picking grass from the hems of her dress and underskirt. “What was it? What brought you back?”

He rubbed his face. “Dancing a volta with Eames, back when… Goddess bless, I was _so_ terrible at it, but he thought I was just perfect. Everything I did, even when I did it completely wrong, he thought it was perfect. Ariadne…” He looked up at the light filtering in the treetops. He wanted to tell her that he missed those days, but found the words impossible to voice.

+

 

Eames paced in Yusuf’s study, trying and failing to keep himself from getting frustrated. “Put me under again.”

“Your Majesty…no.” Yusuf shook his head, massaging his temples. “I don’t know what the hell we just saw down there, but I don’t want to see it again.”

They both turned to the door when the guard stepped in with Jeremy behind him.

The boy bowed. “Your Majesty, I come with wonderful news. The Queen is in labor.”

The King beamed, delighted. “Perfect, excellent. We will be there before the worst of the contractions end, Jeremy. Quick, Yusuf, we ought to pray for Arthur and child’s good health, and then blend one more brew with the crushed seeds. I want to know if it’s more potent if it gets to sit for a few days.”

No sooner had Jeremy left, it seemed, that he returned. “Majesty.” He bowed again, smiling. “The Queen has delivered a healthy baby boy.”

“Another boy? Well, damn, that's a little—Wait he's finished  _a_ _lready_?” Eames demanded, his eyes wide as he glanced from Yusuf to the boy. He looked at the clock. Only two hours had passed.

He was admittedly terrified, even though the boy had said that Arthur and the boy were fine, but he had his doubts as they made their way to Arthur’s chambers.

 

Arthur's cheeks hurt from smiling. “Oh, please my ladies, swear that you’ll tell no one of my next words,” he teased, wincing as he was slipped into a fresh gown and eased gingerly onto clean sheets and linens, “but…” His eyes were teary when he smiled down at Albert. “I just  _love_ human babies so, so, so very much,” he sang, cradling the tiny bundle in his arms.

He littered the baby’s face with kisses, full of praise and affection. “I love your tiny, little head, your tiny little shoulders, your little body. Yes, yes, yes, I do. Oh, my precious little Albert, you were so good to mommy. You put me through unending fear throughout your whole carriage but now look at how wonderful you are! I barely bled." He covered the baby in more soft kisses. "Thank you, my sweet little boy. Don’t tell your brothers, but I do love you most,” he whispered. “He looks just like his father, but he has all my quiet disposition in him, thank the goddess.”

The midwives were still chuckling at Arthur’s rambling when the King barged in.

Arthur smiled as bright as the sun. “Your Majesty.” He bowed his head as the others curtsied. “Come and have a look at your son. He and Thomas could be twins.”

Eames grinned, but his relief evaporated as soon as he stepped further into the room. He wasn’t smiling at all when he sat on the bed beside them. He sniffed at Albert and then sniffed him again.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s human.”

“He is, indeed,” Arthur sighed fondly, playing with Albert’s nose. He glanced at Eames, confused by his silence. “Do you want to hold him, before the wet nurse takes him?”

Eames’ frown was hard set as he continued to study the child. “No, you keep him. He’s too small to fit in my arms.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one to gasp when Eames stood. Arthur sat up straighter. “Eames," he spoke low and careful, "I don’t understand.”

The King's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Rest. I’ll return to visit you in the morning.”

“The morning? Eames, it's morning now. Oh not more somnacin, please! It's alright to hold him. He won't break."

Eames leaned forward and kissed Arthur's forehead. He spoke softly in his ear. "Darling, I said I'd come back tomorrow and I mean that. Rest and enjoy the baby. I have work that finishing and I intend to do it now."

"No, you will not,” Arthur ordered, surprising Eames. “You will take your child, Eames. _Now_.”

Eames crossed his arms, glaring from Arthur to the baby.

Arthur and the others could hardly believe what was happening. “Eames…talk to me,” Arthur pleaded. “What’s wrong with you?”

Cold fear made Arthur shivered when Eames glared at the baby again with wolf's eyes. He clutched Albert tighter. “Are you _mad_?” he whispered. “Eames, he’s your son, not some…weak runt you can turn your back on like this. Where is your head right now?”

“He’s human,” Eames muttered. “He _is_ weak, Arthur.”

Arthur stared at him, gaping as if he'd been assaulted. “Am I not human as well? He’s an alpha, he’s _your_ son.” The midwives tried to keep him in bed, but he refused. He grabbed Eames’ face defiantly, making him looked at Albert.

Surprised, Eames caught his wrist and moved his hand away. “Don’t ever touch me like that again.”

"Eames, what's happened to you?"

"Nothing." He was stopped from leaving again when Arthur blocked his path. "Do you forget who I am, Arthur?"

Arthur's heart skipped a beat unpleasant at Eames' tone. “I know very well who you are. You’re a fool and a bastard.” The midwives gasped and pleaded for Arthur to stop, but he ignored them. His growing anger made him tremble. “You’re a _idiot_ who would call the son of an Eames weak, as if your blood doesn’t fill his veins—”

"Enough, Arthur," Eames warned. "Get back in bed."

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Ariadne whispered, begging with the others. "Say no more. Please!”

“I didn’t make this child by myself,” Arthur hissed. “He’s your flesh and blood too!” His eyes blurred with tears of rage when Eames moved him aside and stomped off, growling at the ladies to get out of his way.

He didn't know what overcame him, seeing Eames like this, but it made his blood boil in a way that scared even himself. “I swear, Eames, from now until the day you die, you will regret this."

"Your Majesty," Lady Anne begged him, trying to get him back in bed.

He followed Eames out in the parlor. "When this child becomes a man,” he shouted at Eames’ retreating back, “I hope to see our _human_ son rise up against his werewolf brothers _and_ you, the same as you did against your father! I pray he leaves you crownless for turning your back on him and daring to call him weak, Henry Eames!”

Eames paused and turned with a look of rage straight from a nightmare before resuming his exit.

“Majesty, no!” Lady Anne pleaded. She sank to the floor. “Arthur, do you have any idea of what you've just done?”

Arthur felt dizzy, but the ladies were there to support him and take the baby. He turned back to Eames and let loose a string of curses in his first language until the main door to his chambers slammed shut hard enough for the walls to shake.

+

 

Arthur’s lying in only lasted a week, but he was still barred from leaving his chambers by the King’s Royal Guard.

"The delivery of firewood must be authorized by his Majesty," Lady Anne was explaining, bundling up in more layers. She tended a fire fueled with book pages and a leg from an old table.

He lounged on his bed in the afternoon, watching Albert wake from his nap. “I’m not permitted to see my Joseph or Thomas, either?” He snorted when Lady Anne tearfully shook her head. He bitterly smiled. “No matter. With what little time I spend with them anyways, I doubt that they even know who I am. But I still have my own little prince here with me,” he whispered, tickling a smile out of Albert when he rubbed his nose on the baby’s brow. When he glanced up again, Ariadne was standing beside the bed with a letter in her hand, her lip quivering.

She sobbed and climbed on the bed beside him. “Forgive me, Arthur, but I must beg you to apologize to the King or else he will send me away. He’s already sent home half of your ladies and now he’s called for me as well. I beseech you. Not for my own behalf, although I do not wish to go, but for your own, and for Albert’s sake.”

Arthur let the wet nurse take Albert to the rocking chair. Sure enough, he and Ariadne left the bedroom, the guards were already waiting in the parlor to escort her home. Arthur's hands balled into fists. He wanted to beat the men with another of the old table's legs, but he kept his composure and hugged Ariadne in a tight embrace. “My conscience is clear, and so must be yours. The King is being entirely unreasonable and still refuses to acknowledge his son, so…" He looked down at his hands and shrugged. "I too refuse to acknowledge the King as my sovereign. I will bend when he bends.”

“But you _must_ bend, or your life—or Albert’s life—may fall into grave danger. I know the King loves you, but love has never been enough to save anyone from a King’s rage such as this or…your treason,” she whispered. "Many have been killed for much, much less."

Arthur shook his head, taking Ariadne’s hands. “How can an alpha love his omega and deny their son with the same heart? And if this is true, then how can I, an omega, love an alpha who could be capable of such?” He looked down with tired eyes. “I miss him. King Eames is very much like the sun. His warmth and light are vital and without him, the whole world is dark and cold.”

“But the sun can also burn the flesh red and blind men,” Ariadne pleaded. “Arthur, forgive me. You know I don’t intend to scare you. I’m sorry.”

Arthur rubbed his face. He laughed again, quiet and musing. “The goddess," he said, looking at her small shrine by the fireplace, "the Blessed Mother, is said to have created all things. In these days, I find my faith being tested. What Mother would create a world as unfair as this one? A world in where brash, raging alphas rule all, while the rest of us are created incapable of fighting against their whims? This world in which I can hate the King with all my heart, but love him so much all the same, with the full capacity of my being?” He huffed. “But She has also created in me a heart that cannot deny my child the love he is owed, and so I’ve chosen Albert over all else. Just…” he cleared his throat. He slipped the smallest ring from his finger and enclosed it in her hands. “Just make sure that Joseph and Thomas get a kiss from you before you go.”

"And what will you do then?"

"I'll keep fighting. I have to."

+ 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! I did not know this much time had passed between updates! O_O So sorry! I am foolishly attempting to update several fics at the same time, and it's...well, it's going. But I also didn't want to rush these chapters either. New update schedule will hopefully be Wednesdays for this fic, so stay tuned folks! 
> 
> Enjoy!

+

 

Eames thought too late to lock his study door when he heard Yusuf enter his chambers.

Yusuf huffed before stopping short, his hands on his hips. They both held their breath until Eames got the spoon to drip the precise amount of dragon’s blood over the cooling healing solution.

Eames sighed, feeling accomplished when orange steam rose from the concoction. “This is ready to mass produce for the soldiers. Finally.” He glanced up. “What?”

“I just tried to visit the Queen and was barred by your guards?”

His brow rose. “Yes?”

“Majesty, don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

“Not at all. You didn’t hear what he said to me.”

“Whatever it was, it’s easy to understand why.”

“Oh, it is? Are you calling me obtuse?”

“I mean only that he’d just…pushed a child from his body, and was immediately snubbed. I’d have a few choice words to say myself, if I may speak bluntly, your Majesty.”

Eames snorted. “You ask for permission after the insults have left your mouth. Clever.”

Yusuf shook his head as a groom helped him out of his furs. He adjusted his silk sash before joining Eames at the table. “I remember a former you that was relieved when he thought Arthur wouldn’t be required to take the bite. God rest his soul.”

“Well, thank you for your contribution on the matter. Now if you’ll excuse yourself, I have work to do, but you can always help, if you wish.”

Yusuf sputtered. “Will you not see reason, boy? I’m too bloody old for your tantrums, Eames, and so are you. You must adapt. _Arthur_ has. His Majesty did not wish to have more children, and now he does. _You_ do not want human children, and you have one. Take control.”

“I am in control, Yusuf.”

Yusuf tossed up his hands. “Fine, fine. I will say no more, your Majesty.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

Yusuf waited, quietly, patiently, diligently assisting Eames in plucking more petals for the next healing solution variant, waiting for Eames to finally—”

“Damn it, Yusuf!” On cue, Eames heaved a great sigh. “What you and Arthur don’t understand is that werewolf alphas can’t have human children.”

“Impossible?”

“Try _dangerous_. That’s more like it.”

“Having children is a stressful endeavor. For all parents.”

“Made more so when you are a werewolf,” Eames stressed. “You don’t understand, because you were human for half of your life. That child doesn’t smell like me, he doesn’t carry my mark…”

Yusuf frowned. “An infidelity?”

“Rationally? Of course not. Are werewolves rational creatures? No.”

“Is it territorial?”

“I have no idea! All I know is that there is some grave disconnect between myself and that child. Is there anything actually wrong with the little runt himself? Probably not. And yet here we are. My fangs descended when I saw him, Yusuf.”

Yusuf took a small step back. "Did you see him as a threat or as prey?”

Eames tracked the beta's small moment with his eyes. When he blinked, the flash of gold coloring in his eyes had disappeared. He ordered a groom to fetch water for somnacin.

"Majesty?"

Eames didn’t speak at first. His silence was answer enough. “It’s my blood that would have had me…do something that a righteous king would not do to his own child, Yusuf. I regret to say this, you know I do, but I understand my father much better now than I ever have. He would have killed a human child without hesitation, but I didn’t, therefore Arthur has attacked me unjustly and I shall continue putting my foot down. It's my right.”

Yusuf rolled his eyes. “But your Majesty, if you can identify this troublesome mindset, then you can fight against it! I can’t imagine the strength that lies within Arthur, to defy you as he did, when his nature is to do the opposite. It's incredible!”

“Well, rather he the King than I! As his alpha, it is my nature to lead, and his as an omega to follow, but look at how he spits in the face of that! Meanwhile, my nature cripples me. It would have him be made to obey, Yusuf. It drives me to insanity. I would love to see the world through different eyes, but apparently, unlike Arthur, it’s impossible for me. Clearly omegas are more evolved.”

Yusuf wanted to agree wholeheartedly with that fact, but his own instincts thought better of further provoking his alpha. He tried not shout at him. Eames baffled him to no end. He took a deep breath and frowned. Eames behaved as if his rut was in full swing, but his scent was unchanged. “Then what will you do with the child?”

“Well, what can I do? He shall be given rooms here and shall remain as far away from the succession as possible.”

“Arthur will never stand for this,” Yusuf muttered, shaking his head. He paused, eyeing the King when the water was brought. Yusuf shook the jar Eames placed on the table, surprised to find it nearly empty. “I’d almost forgotten to tell you what my research found, on this poppy.”

“Hopefully nothing disastrous. Don’t tell me my teeth are going to fall out. We’ve just managed to build in dreams.”

He continued to study Eames. “Turns out that our happy dreaming helper is a distant, although not distant enough not to be a problem, but a distant cousin to wolfsbane, which would explain why dreamsharing made Arthur so…well, drunk when he used it and why too much makes me feel funny as well, though not as severe as his. I trust it must affect you as well?”

Eames’ brow creased. “Not in the slightest. My blood must burn through it better?”

Yusuf frowned deeper and muttered mostly to himself, “Or perhaps it manifests differently with you. Not physically, but…”

“You know, Arthur was lucky,” Eames was saying, “that he wasn’t more sickly than he was, before being bitten, or else he may have died even before we met, Yusuf. His family, his brothers, and now Mallorie, since her second child is very ill, they all have children who have either died or have weak hearts like Arthur did. But Arthur’s so stubborn, he sees none of this.”

Yusuf frowned, still shaking his head. “King Miles never married women from any strong or noble families and neither have many of his children, but Arthur has. Arthur’s married into the strongest family there is, Eames. Albert will be equally strong…in his own way.” He sighed. “Make him part of the succession.”

“I can’t. Any title, any scrap of land I could give him will be constantly up for grabs.”

“So you’ve chosen the safety of your property over your own child?”

He slammed his fists on the table. “No! I have chosen my child!” He began to pace, retracting his claws. “In four years for Joseph and five for Thomas, they will take control over their own households. If rebels were to rise up against either of them, they would be strong enough to defend themselves, even as little children, little _wolves_. Albert will not. And do you think any of my enemies will even dare expend resources to go after werewolves, even child werewolves?”

“No, Majesty.”

“Will they attack a human prince?”

“Well…”

“And does Arthur understand any of this? No.”

“Then try to help him understand, but you cannot force him, Eames. And you must absolutely apologize for all of this.”

“Why do I have to? He cursed me. He cursed this kingdom. He spoke ill of his sons.”

“Have you not spoken ill of the youngest one?”

“It’s different.”

Yusuf's brow rose. He took another step back. "Well, Eames... You have at last become your father's son after all. It makes me very...sad and disappointed."

Eames looked up, but the elder werewolf's back was already turned, his feet taking him to the door. "Yusuf? Yusuf!" he called, but the beta was gone. He sat at his desk and buried his head in his hands.

+

 

Arthur sat on his bed with his legs folded, his chin propped up on his hands, his head throbbing. He watched Albert wiggle and wail in a fit in his lap. “Can you feed him again perhaps?”

Lady Marisol shook her head. “No, Majesty. He won’t take more.”

Arthur sniffed Albert again and frowned deeper. “His scent is different.”

"He’s growing so fast.” Jeremy peered over Arthur’s shoulder. “Is that normal?" 

“I have no idea. I’ve never spent this much time with my own children before.” He laughed at the absurdity and sighed. “My crown for Lady Catherine’s wisdom. I’m sorry, Albert, but I don’t know what you want. You refuse to sleep, you aren’t hungry, and your wrapping is still clean.” He wiped the angry tears from the baby’s cheeks.

He sighed when Albert continued to cry. “Well, my apologies that I’m not a better host, Albert.” He leaned back and coughed hard in the crook of his elbow. When he turned back, he huffed, crossing his arms. “There can’t ever be any question of your birth, little boy. You, Joseph, and Thomas are absolutely siblings.” He coughed again into his handkerchief. “Only you three seem to find such great amusement in other people’s pain.” His chest hurt, but he still laughed at Albert’s lopsided grin, shaking his head. “Silly boy.”

Jeremy hovered near the bedpost. “Are you alright, Majesty?”

“Fine, fine.” He waved his hand. “Great, now that Albert’s no longer screaming in my face.” He picked him up when he started to whine again and held him tight. “It's become so stuffy in these rooms. He wants out.”

Jeremy and the three ladies perked up at once. Lady Anne stepped closer. “Shall I send for his Majesty?”

Arthur frowned. “No, why? No, no, I don’t want him here.”

“But, your Majesty,” she pressed gently, “certainly the time has come to mend things?”

“Then all of this will have been for nothing. If I’d planned to cave, I could have done that last week, or the week before. Forgive me if I sound to you as an unreasonable child, but… What else can I do?” His smile was sad when Albert looked up at him. “What of Albert?”

“What of Joseph and Thomas, Majesty? You must miss them. I know they miss their mother. And you must miss your husband deeply, and he you,” she tried. “A mated pair ought not live like this, Majesty. An omega is vulnerable without their alpha, but at his side once more, you would return to your full strength again.”

“And then what?”

“Well… you would have the King’s favor again. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Majesty? Think of how happy the boys would be to see you. Think of your people.”

He stared down at Albert. It was tiring, physically exhausting him to not to yield to such promises. His heart bled for his children, his body ached for Eames…

He rose from the bed and walked with Albert, his smile more pleasant to see the baby at last losing his battle against sleep. “For now, my Lady, I know that I am where I need to be and doing all that I can, all that I must.” He kissed Albert’s face. “I owe it to Albert, this child, who was first undesired, then born a boy when we wanted a girl, human, without a werewolf’s strength and the protective arm of his father… He deserves so much more than I can give. Joseph and Thomas have the whole world, but this boy has only me.”

+

 

Arthur paced around his parlor, wrapping his robe tighter around his nightgown once the doctor took his leave. His mind swirled in a storm of troubled thought. Daybreak was almost upon them. No one had slept at all that night.

“He’s resting easier,” Lady Marisol spoke from the couch, cradling Albert. “That’s a good sign, Majesty.”

“For _now_. I just—” The baby fell into a coughing fit again. Arthur hurried over to take him from the lady’s arms, trying to calm him. He wiped the sweat from Albert’s face, his eyes stinging in frustration. "I just wish this wasn't happening."

Lady Anne and the others hovered close, all nervous when Albert whined. “Majesty, shall we send for the King?”

“Please…Wait. No. Yes. I…” He hugged Albert tighter and sobbed, at last breaking when Albert coughed again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know.”

She rubbed his arms. “Alright, your Majesty. It's alright.” She nodded at Jeremy, signaling for him to go. “Everything will be fine. Just breathe. Albert will be just fine now. Everything will be sorted. Breathe with me. That’s it.”

Jeremy rushed past the guards, surprising them. He took to the corridor at a run. He made his way to the King’s chambers just as the door opened. He crashed into Eames’ chest with a grunt.

“Good god, boy,” Eames muttered, helping him to his feet, grumpy and tired in the early morning. His frown faltered when he realized who’d just run into him. “What’s happened, boy?”

Jeremy skittered several steps back as Eames stepped forward. He swallowed, his shoulders hunched, eternally in fear of the King. “Your…your Majesty, I… The child has fallen ill with fever. His Majesty has asked for your assistance.” He flinched towards the wall when Eames raced past him. 

Eames skidded to a halt he when arrived in the parlor. He grabbed the nearest groom by the collar. “Why are the heaths empty?”

“Sir…you…we received no authorization this month to continue th—”

“Have you no common sense at all, you fool? Did you ever wait before for some trivial document giving you _permission_ to do your job? Do the cooks need authorization to feed the Queen? Look at the floors and the furniture. Have the servants stopped working as well?”

“N-No, sir, please! We…we didn’t know what to do after you… We didn’t want to be—”

“I should rip your head off right where you stand!” He was interrupted from saying more when he heard the baby’s crying. He snarled at the groom. “If that child dies in my omega’s arms because of your stupidity, I _will_ kill you.”

The boy stumbled back when Eames let him go. “Yes, sire. Forgive us, sire.”

All was quiet in the bedroom. Even the baby didn’t make a sound now. Eames had to pause upon seeing Arthur. Even in his grief, the omega was beautiful. The way he gently tended over the child, his love apparent, was godlike, angelic. 

Eames could understand why most people assumed his anger after losing battles to Dominic was uncivilized. He carried himself in the highest air imaginable. His was the great werewolf alpha king of legend; losing had bruised his ego and he didn't much appreciate his ego being bruised. Only that was just a whisper of where his anger had truly come from. It was that losing those battle meant his soldiers had died for nothing. _That_ enraged him. But that was nothing in the face of this. Having to concede that Yusuf had been right, that Arthur was right, it stung, yes, but once again, what being wrong had _cost_ him, had cost all of them, including this child, _that_  made him want to shift and rampage through the grounds.

Arthur wiped more sweat from the baby’s brow and tossed the cloth on the bed. He buried his face in his hands. “I give up.”

“No, your Majesty, you mustn’t!” Lady Anne tried to take Arthur’s hand, but he shook her off.

Lady Catherine checked over Albert again as Arthur paced. She leaned close to Lady Anne and whispered, “Send for Cardinal Bryant. Quickly.”

“There’s no need,” Arthur bit out, sobbing. “Albert was never christened.” He stomped up to the King, his voice shaking. “Damn you, Eames. Damn you for all of this.” 

Eames caught him when he turned away, his grip on Arthur’s arms firm to keep him from struggling away. “Arthur, look at me.” He shook him gently. “Arthur.” He held his face, accepting the glare Arthur shot at him. “Arthur, I will fix this.”

“If you don’t…” He grabbed Eames’ wrists. “I swear, if you don’t…”

“I will. Give me a few hours to tailor an elixir. Alright?”

Arthur nodded. He stepped back and watched Eames bark orders at the grooms before he left. He wiped his face and turned back to Albert, his chest hurting to see the baby coughing again. He prayed that they still had hours left, but he had his doubts.

+

 

When Eames at last returned with the small vial, sunlight filtered through the drapes. The ladies and Jeremy had fallen asleep on the couches in the parlor. 

Arthur was nodding off, sitting against the headboard with Albert bundled in his lap. He roused at once when he felt the baby leave his arms. “Eames? No. No, give him back. What are you doing?” He clambered from the bed when Eames carried Albert to the rocking chair, thinking in his exhaustion that his worst fears had been made real.

Eames’ brow furrowed in concentration, cradling the tiny bundle and dripping a few drops of the orange liquid into Albert’s mouth carefully, counting each drop.

Arthur stood close, shaking. His heart ached when Albert began to cough harder and squirm. “Eames? Eames? Eames, please. What are you doing to him?” He knelt on the floor beside them, wanting to tear the baby from Eames' arms. He clutched a loose bit of the baby’s swaddling cloth and held his breath.

“I have to monitor him closely,” Eames muttered, his eyes still on Albert’s pained face. When at last the coughing ceased, he gave him two more drops. “If I send for food, will you eat?”

“Yes.”

“And will you rest after?”

Arthur nodded quickly, “Yes, whatever, of course. Just let him live.”

 

On the surface, they sat together in peace, watching over Albert closely, counting down the time for the next drops until the bottle was almost empty.

“Arthur, get off the floor,” Eames said in a hushed voice, but still as a commanding as ever.

Arthur shook his head, wrapping his robe more snug around his waist. “I’m fine here.”

“ _Arthur_.” Eames sighed. “He’s sleeping soundly—”

“But his fever—”

“Is breaking,” Eames reassured him quietly. “Get up. Eat. Please.”

Arthur wanted to argue, but he was tired. His eyes never left Albert as he sat on the bed and pulled apart bread on the tray. They sat in silence again, letting the minutes tick by, before Arthur looked at Eames' face. “You…you’ve lost weight,” he commented before eating a piece of the bread.

Eames gave a sad smile. “Speak for yourself.”

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

Eames glanced up from Albert before dropping his eyes. He wanted to tease Arthur and say that it had always been Arthur’s job to take care of him, but instead, he gave Albert three more drops and muttered simply, “I’ve been busy.”

“With the somnacin? I'm sure you have." Arthur nodded. "So have I.” He swallowed, dropping his eyes as well. He picked at more bread. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. I have made a big decision,” he added, matter-of-factly.

When Eames looked up at him again, something painful settled in his stomach. “Oh?”

Arthur's eyes were on the meal he'd picked apart to crumbs. “Mhm.”

“Anything good?”

Arthur paused, his cup to his lips. “Not for you,” he spoke softly before taking a sip. 

+

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being so late! D: I'm working on a good ten million fics, because my brain hates me.

+

 

Arthur didn’t say more for days as Albert’s strength returned.

He was overjoyed to see his household thriving again, but being dressed in so many glittering jewels and rich fabrics made him feel as if he were putting on a costume. As soon as his ladies placed his golden olive branch crown on his head, he took it off.

His annoyance only grew into anger as the hour wound down. Eames was supposed to have joined him in the Queen’s chapel so that they together could introduce Albert to the court before seeing him off to join Joseph and Thomas in the nursery. Eames was late. The palace was at a standstill, as all the nobles hovered close to the Queen’s chambers, waiting for the King to arrive so that they could be invited in at last.

+

 

Eames fidgeted on his throne, bored with the proceedings and annoyed by Arthur’s stubborn silence.

Finally, he’d had enough. “Guard, hold the remaining visitors. Everyone, clear the room.” He got up from the chair and paced. “After all this time, you still choose not to speak to me?”

Arthur huffed and rose to his feet as well, handing the baby to the wet-nurse he ordered to stay behind. “Because, your Majesty, when I do speak I am punished for it. Punished for forgetting that I’m apparently not an equal to you, as your spouse and as a person.”

Eames turned to him and frowned. “But you’re not. I’m your alpha; no one is equal to that…”

“Ah, silly little me. Of course.”

“Darling, you…” Eames’ shoulders sank at Arthur’s expression. “Apparently I misspoke. Fine. I’m sorry. It is not my intention to hurt you—”

Arthur walked away and snapped. “How can you misspeak what’s on your heart? You meant exactly what you said. I’m beneath you.”

“Arthur, stop. Of course not.”

“No? Not when you override my wishes, not when you bully me, or let other members of your court abuse me with their words? No? I am beneath you. I am. Under your council, under the children you like, and even under your enemies, that is where I’m placed.” He stepped back when Eames stepped forward.

“Arthur, I don’t understand your reasoning. Why now do you defy me?”

Arthur stepped back again, quick to wipe the tears that slipped from his eyes as Eames continued to crowd him. He felt small, as he’d always felt small and cowed. It made him angry. “You have so many faces, your Majesty. One is for your charm, another for your anger, and so on, and I’ve kissed them all, but the last face you revealed me, to Albert, I cannot stomach to see again—Let me have my space!”

Eames growled and took several steps back, agitated and surprised by Arthur’s outburst, but he didn’t move closer to him again. “You forget that all I do is for you and our family.”

“You do for you and _your_ family.”

“Oh, so now you don’t wish to claim our children as ours? What’s next?”

“No,” he wiped away more tears in frustration, “I didn’t say that. They are yours because everything is yours. You took away from me everything and left me cold and alone with Albert. It is your family, because you picked me, an omega, to…to play a part for you in _your_ legacy. I was planted here for no other reason, and after all my attempts to prove that I can give you your heirs and do some much more for you, you don’t care. You had me reduced to poverty, your Majesty.”

“For which I have apologized ten thousand times, Arthur.”

“Your Majesties?” The guard bowed. “The Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Sansar, Lord Yusuf is here.”

Eames handed Arthur his handkerchief. “Send him in.”

Arthur stared down at the white cloth and back to Eames. He refused to hide the truth that he was crying. Though uncomfortable Yusuf was for unknowingly interrupting their quarrel, he stayed for quite some time to discuss the progress of yet another tax hike in the new proposal, and more new somnacin findings.

When at last the Duke left, Arthur sighed. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You invited him in as if we weren't talking. Were you even listening?”

“Yes, I was listening, but I am also still the king of these realms and have duties I must tend to at all times. Again, I am sorry.”

“No, your Majesty, you’re not.”

Eames tossed up his hands. “What bloody good is it to grovel if you always think my words are false?”

“You call yourself groveling?” Arthur stared at him for a long time before turning to the guard. “Sir, please send our deepest apologies to the guests who have not yet been permitted in. We’ll resume this in the morning. Until then, Lady Marisol, have Albert returned to my rooms, please.”

Arthur stared at Eames again, shaking his head. “I’ve lived my entire life void of respect,” he bite out, his fists clenching at his sides, “and for as far back as I can remember, I’ve accepted that, thinking it was my fault, that it was my _place_ to be coddled and trampled over. How foolish was I, then, to think that this new life here would finally bring forth the moment when I earned that respect? And yet, here we are.”

“Arthur—”

“Do you have any idea what this feels like? Of course not. People like you are so easy to withhold respect from people like me and then you lose your mind the second someone dares to do the same to you.”

“I love you, Arthur. You are the only person I love. You alone have that.”

“Of course you love me. My womb carried your children. Since the day we met, it’s always been about that.”

“I will not tell you again, that’s not true. I’ve told you as such so many times, Arthur.”

“And showed me in so, so little.”

Eames paused, lost for words.

Arthur waved his hand in the direction of the nursery. “Think of your sons, your Majesty, think of how strong and powerful they are. _I did that._ I sacrificed myself and risked my life to birth those boys for you, and you know I would do it again. Look at _all_ I’ve done for you and all I intend to do! Your people lived in terror of you until I reached forth my hands and comforted them. I gave your countrymen a place where they could learn and have strong minds, opportunities for their children to have holidays filled with gifts and great feasts at your table, I provided the way for women to have security and control over their households, and they all _love_ you for that. Everyone _honors_ you, but where am I? Still begging you to accept your human son as being just as good as the others!” He took a deep breath, his voice quaking. “But I am _not_ going to beg you for respect, your Majesty. _Never_. What’s not offered freely to me, I refuse to give in return. You can strip away my household, you can even throw me in the dungeons, I don’t care. I do not respect you and I do not care for you beyond the love I have for our children.” He wiped his eyes.

Eames stepped back as if he’d been struck. “No, no, no, no, that’s not true. Arthur, you can’t say that. It’s not true.”

“It is! It is.” He sobbed. “I don’t love you anymore.”

“Arthur, no.” He took his arms. “Look at you, Arthur. You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” He couldn’t meet his eyes. “If you push someone over, will they not fall down? This is so.”

“No, I don’t accept this.” He caught Arthur’s face. “I do not accept this!” When Arthur broke free of his hands, he couldn’t move to pursue him. “Fine, I… I will add Albert to the succession, I will give him houses and tiles and whatever you want, I will tear out my own heart and eat it for you, just… I am begging you. What must I do? Is there anything in this world that I can do? Please?”

Arthur turned his back, sobbing into his hands. Time passed in heavy silence until Arthur nodded.

Eames had realized he’d gotten on his knees until his hands touched the cold tiles. He breathed as if he’d drowning. “What are you terms?”

Arthur took several deep, steadying breaths, his face turned up to the painted ceiling. He cleared his throat, his voice quiet. “Either you will grant me permission to remove myself and the children from the palace—”

“No. No! Arthur, I will not—”

“ _Or_ , you will end the dreamsharing project. Lord Yusuf told me of it’s affects. Either it is poisoning you or you are truly a monster. Some place in my heart needs to know whether it’s the former or the latter. I don’t want to see somnacin in your hand, I don’t want to see somnacin in your cup, I don’t want to see somnacin at all anywhere in this palace, or I will take the children and leave.”

Eames was back on his feet when Arthur turned to face him. He nodded. “I swear that you will see me far exceed your expectations.”

Arthur nodded back. “I hope so. I really do.”

+

 

The following days passed quietly. Something had happened to the King and Queen, but none of the court knew just what it was.

They had reasoned that Arthur’s lengthy absence had been due to another difficult child birth followed by rumors that the child had been sick as well, but now that Arthur was back in public view, back at the King’s side, it was clear that they had changed.

Gone were their stolen kisses and whispering during court functions. All that was left was a shade, covered in ceremony.

+

 

Arthur was awoken in the middle of the night by his worried attendants.

“It’s his Majesty,” Jeremy explained.

From the looks on their faces, Arthur didn’t need to know more. He slipped into his robe and hurried to Eames’ rooms.

Inside, Eames’ doctor was in the midst of a losing battle to bleed the King’s arm.

“Majesty,” the beta sighed, bowing to Arthur, “he is incapable of sleep and it is making him ill.”

“No,” Eames warned, pointing his fingering at the man’s chest. “You will not tell the Queen such lies.”

Arthur looked between them, taking a step back from Eames and seeing how the werewolf tracked his movement, as Arthur were prey. “Your Majesty, what’s happening?”

“Nothing is happening. Yusuf has informed me that my body is ridding itself of residual somnacin, that’s all.”

“But you look awful, and pained.”

“No. I made you an oath, Arthur, and I fully intend to see this through, no matter happens. My blood could turn green and my bones crumble, but I shall fight for you, Arthur, and in the end, I shall have your love returned to me. I swear.”

+

 

As Eames’ efforts to shake the somnacin poppy grew worse and worse, everyone from Yusuf to the grooms realized that this condition was more serious than anyone could have imagined. Eames’ inability to sleep quickly transformed into an inability to stay awake, mixed between bouts of severe headaches that kept him in bed anyways.

Several days turned into a week that turned into another. The court was more than a little nervous by the King’s absence. Rumors flooded the palace walls of the King fighting off a curse or disappeared from the realm altogether, perhaps on a secret mission to seize Runes, but everyone working in and around the King kept their silence.

Arthur paced in Yusuf’s office, fitting the urge to bite his nails. “The council’s become anxious. I don’t blame them. In fact I blame myself.”

“Don’t, your Majesty. I aided him in his somnacin discoveries and did not do my part to protect him and caution him from overuse. But what you have done was necessary. He needed that push, that…fire under his feet to get him moving. You have proven that you care for the King very much.” When Arthur didn’t comment, Yusuf’s smile was sad. “But in all situations, there will always be at least one consequence unforeseen. The question now is… Well,” Yusuf extended his hand in invitation, “why don’t you come and have a look. Please.”

Arthur sat down at Yusuf’s desk as his secretaries hurried about the room in preparation for the council meeting. He sighed, taking in all the stacks of papers. “How long has Eam—his Majesty—been neglecting his duties?”

“We’ve been at a standstill with most of the proposals and projects, including the new palace construction and…perhaps, most importantly to you, the treaty, for quite some time, unfortunately.”

Arthur accepted each large parchment handed to him, the stack growing and growing. He could feel more than a headache coming on. He nodded. “I see. Stoneborough wants farmland protection revoked in order to turn them into mining fields? He wants his peasantry's store houses empty of grain, then, is that correct?"

"He is a man of money and only that."

"But without grain, how will his miners and their families eat?"

"Precisely. This proposal is something I personally do not wish for, thus it remains ignored in the pile."

"And I see there is talk again on raising taxes in all the wrong places."

"How so?"

Arthur's brow rose. He shrugged, a little flustered the more he looked over the proposals. "All the nobility fear the King. If he were to command them to jump, they would fly, only it seems that _their_ politics all magically line up with  _his_ politics. His Majesty is too fond of them and their flattery, thus he gives them everything they want, so long as it doesn't infringe on him personally. Taxing the peasantry keeps all of them happy, therefore the King is happy. But what I would like to see is some great initiative made to change that. When I looked into Cardinal Stewart's records, I found that the bribes and revenue circulating throughout this class is so grand, that if they were all each taxed at the same percent of those far less well off, then the peasantry would not have to pay taxes at all."

"The nobility sees higher taxes as an affront to their status."

Arthur frowned at the stack of papers. "Then that must be where the change is made."

The Duke leaned forward, his eyebrow quirked. "What, hypothetically of course, would be the best solution?"

"Convince them that sharing these responsibilities, that caring for their subjects by paying more so those with less don't have to, grants them even more status. Make paying taxes an act that gives them praise and prestige. Some way of showing their wealth to the realm and their people through the amount that they pay, I suppose. Something like that."

"And if they're all just too greedy for this to work?"

Arthur shrugged again. "Order them. There are penalties when farmers and the lot don't pay their shares, so why not the same for dukes and lords? It would certainly look impressive to the people."

"Hm." Yusuf mulled it over for a long time as Arthur resumed flipping through the parchments. 

"So how has your Regency gone thus far?" Arthur asked after a while. "All of this looks incredibly daunting, but are you making much progress?”

Yusuf sat back in his chair, a faint grimace on his face. “To be honest, I have been only keeping this kingdom afloat. Eames and I have sailed this ship together for a long time, but he has always been at the helm and I simply his map, offering him a myriad of possible routes that he himself would chose from, but now… I do not know his mind as well as I’d first imagined. I have no clue what routes his mind would pick on any of these issues, or if going down that course is the best for the realm, as we both know the King has on occasion made...rather selfish decisions. No, only one person is truly capable of knowing Henry Eames' mind and heart.”

Arthur paused his inspection of the papers to look up at Yusuf, surprised by his expression. “What… what do you have in mind, your Grace?”

+ 

 

The privy council was pleasantly surprised to see Arthur accompany Yusuf to the meeting.

“Your Majesty,” the Duke of Stoneborough spoke first as everyone bowed and took their seats, “it settles more than a few of our fears to see the Queen is doing well, even if, god forbid, our King is not?”

“Thank you, your Grace. His Majesty is quite well, but has requested a short period of rest. As we all know, he is an alpha that works most tirelessly for his people and is often all too willing to run himself to the bone in his endeavors, for which we all very grateful, although,” he tried to tease, “his sons may take issue with his time management.”

They all chuckled softly. The Governor of Wolfshire smiled as he added, “No doubt the Queen agrees with the King’s sons?”

Arthur could only smile back politely before he took his seat. 

The first twenty minutes seemed to be devoted to each member voicing some concern here and there and introducing, from the looks on most of their faces, the same or similar proposals to the ones already spread out on the table in front of Yusuf.

Arthur listened quietly to all of it, his hands folded in his lap to stop from fidgeting, before he leaned over to whisper to Yusuf. “Your Grace, may I ask you something?”

“Certainly. Anything.”

“When the King was my age, what had he accomplished?”

Yusuf’s eyes went wide, just thinking of the scope of it all. “When he was nineteen, well, the first thing that comes to my mind is that he’d saved Willow’s Edge from the White Dragon—”

“By himself?” he asked earnestly.

Yusuf glanced to the council, who were still waiting. He nodded. “Yes, Majesty. No one else, not even I, would risk falling to that dragon, but he never thought twice on it.”

Arthur took a deep breath and nodded, knowing what he had to do, then. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat when at last he stood, his hands touching the table and the scattered documents. “We have heard all of your grievances and have come to a conclusion that will, god...god willing, make it possible to see action taken on each of your requests. I have decided that, as your Queen, with the assistance of his Majesty’s chosen Regent, to take up the King’s burden—” The hall erupted in protests. He glanced at Yusuf, who gave him an encouraging nod. “I shall-I shall take up the King’s burden until the time that he is well enough—”

“Majesty!” the Duke of Roe stood, his face red with anger, “you have neither the knowledge, the experience, or the leverage to do what you plan. You were not born of this realm either!” He held out his hands and chuckled. “All of us are deeply moved by your gesture, but it is only just a gesture, surely?”

“No gesture, your Grace. I am confident that all of us can make this work if—” More men shouted over him. He cleared his throat. “—if we stick together...”

“The burden of King is not suited for one who bares children!”

“He’s right," the Eameston Governor chimed in, his werewolf eyes glowing dark burgundy. "You are not an alpha or…or even…”

“Or even what?” Arthur challenged him. When the beta could only sputter in response, Arthur glanced at the Duke of Roe. “Sit down, your Grace. I'm not finished speaking.”

“I cannot, your Majesty. I cannot submit to you. You are no more capable of holding this position than your toddlers are.”

Another beta stood. “He's right, your Majesty. We all kindly beseech you to come to some reason. You have a newborn. Abandon this silly mission of yours and return to your children. Lord Yusuf is a capable enough Regent to—”

“Enough!” The hall fell silent as the King appeared, followed closely by his two grooms.

The betas all sat down quickly, but Arthur remained standing, looking at Eames with a mix of concern for his health and fear that he would once again be knocked down by the alpha, who had to share the same opinions as his council.

When Eames reached for the chair behind Arthur, Arthur quickly moved to help him sit. Eames looked strong in his dark blue doublet and hose, his chain of office sparkling, but Arthur knew that he was still rundown with fever, which meant his patience was well past worn out.

“I asked for rest,” Eames growled, his face propped in his hand, “for peace and quiet, and receive a hall filled with screaming old men instead?”

“You Majesty,” the Duke of Stoneborough spoke carefully, “the Queen was—”

Eames’ eyes were golden when they glared at the beta, who seemed so overwhelmed by the look that he sat without another word when Eames ordered, “Silence, you mewling toad.” He glanced at Arthur, clearly tired as he massaged his temples. “Do you require my assistance, Arthur?”

He did, he really, really did. “No, your Majesty. Thank you.”

Eames nodded and rose to his feet. “Very well, if no one has any complaints, I will be in my chambers.”

The older betas grumbled again once the door close, but order remained.

Lord Thompson rose, adjusting his overcoat in as dignified a manner as the man could muster. “Very well, your Majesty. You… you may proceed with your…edicts.”

“Thank you, your Grace. You all need not fret. I understand my limitations and am in excellent hands, guided by the always admirable Lord Yusuf. I only wish to…” he tilted his head nervously, “make only a few…minor changes.” The older betas groaned again. Arthur glanced at Yusuf for encouragement. “The tax proposal has not been given authorization yet, and I wish to have final say on the budget as well.”

“Your Majesty, please. What do you know of such things? What about a proposal for funds to redecorate the nursery, or to paint murals on more of the ceilings? That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” the Earl of Green stood, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Arth—Forgive me, _his Majesty_ —was responsible for exposing Cardinal Stewart’s fraud,” he stated, stunning the hall into silence. “If not for the Queen, his Majesty the King would have never had a case against that crooked scoundrel. What order and justice that was brought forth as a result is all thanks to the Queen. The National Observatories, in both Engston and now Eameston as well, are also the Queen’s doing. I think we owe him, for the love we bear the King and this realm, a chance to prove himself once again. I for one am confident in his abilities.” 

When the werewolf’s words were received without protest, Arthur could at last feel his shoulders relax. He took a deep breath, nodding in thanks Eames’ pack member. “Now, the first order of business ought to be to tackle those oldest grievances that have waited the longest to be resolved.”

“Such as?” the Engston Governor asked.

“Such as the treaty, which I think we all can agree has been collecting dust while negotiations were stalled, for far, _far_ too long.”

+


	23. Chapter 23

+

 

Arthur was more than exhausted when he arrived in his chambers after the Parliament meeting to ratify the new tax laws. He was hot, lightly sweating, and wanted nothing more than to undress and relax in bed with a book.

He sat up against the pillows after the attendants were excused. He tried to read, but his mind kept wandering, his temperature still rising.

“No.” He dropped his book and lifted his nightgown with a groan. “No, no, no, not now. Please not now.” He called for an emergency cool bath, and had another thorough cleaning the next morning before dressing in the most rigid, thickest clothes he had, anything to keep his heat scent contained.

+

 

Eames’ health was improving gradually. He could sense it by the clarity that gripped him, even in his sleep. He woke up slowly, groaning. He’d fallen asleep on his erection again. It hurt. He turned on his back and stared down at it as his cock refused to let him return to sleep. He knew what he had to do, and knew how he ought to do it, but rather than send a groom to give Arthur his message, he instead found himself slipping into his heavy robe, his feet taking him straight to Arthur’s chambers.

It was clear that the ladies and grooms were in the parlor to make sure that no one – Eames – got into Arthur’s bedroom, but they were all fast asleep at this hour.

He could smell Arthur’s bewitching scent as he neared the door. Inside, Arthur was moaning softly, his back turned, lying on his side with his nightgown hiked up over his hips and his hands moving between his legs.

At first Arthur didn’t know he was there. Eames’ scent mixed so perfectly with his and had him rolling through his fourth orgasm before his mind could catch up with him. Quickly, he sat up, pulling his gown back over his legs, the toy phallus hastily pushed away.

Eames had his eyes closed, trying not to look at Arthur, but that only made his scent that much more rich and thick. The spot where Arthur had lain was damp when he hurried from the bed.

Eames tried not to breathe. “Arthur…”

Arthur felt a powerful tremor race through him. He closed his slick thighs tighter. “Your Majesty, what… What are you…doing here?”

Eames stepped forward, the large bed the only thing separating them. He picked up the toy by its little strap. Before he could think, he put it in his mouth, tasting Arthur. 

Arthur felt a new wave of pleasure, and pain, roll through him. He whimpered, catching Eames' attention.

Eames dropped the toy back onto the bed. His claws dug into the ornate wooden post, keeping him his feet planted. “I…” He had to close his eyes again. He prided himself on his newfound restraint, but Arthur was struggling. He wondered if Arthur even knew that he’d sat on the bedside table, his legs wide open and his gown twisted up in his hands. Eames shook his head and found himself moved closer, his claws now buried in the next bedpost. “I needed to stuff my cock in your peach—ah, sorry.” He cleared his throat and shook his head again. “No. Sorry.”

Oh, how Eames' blood boiled at the sight of Arthur trembling. The werewolf in him—no, just Eames, just all of Eames, every single part of him—wanted to pull apart that thin little gown. He could envision his cock buried so deep, kissing Arthur’s womb, stretching him with his knot, and filling him with his seed. He could see Arthur’s belly grow, his chest soft and rounding, his scent change, but he had to fight it. He had to fight it with everything he had. He sighed, trying not to think of how painfully his cock throbbed behind his robe as Arthur stood. “I… I needed to ask you in person if… Arthur… do… do you want me to be here?”

Yes. Yes, more than life itself. Arthur’s body was calling to Eames so loudly that he could feel a trail of slick run down to the back of his knee. He was hurting, his omega sex burning, hungering for his mate to fill him with that perfect knot. It had only been a day of suppressing that need for him but he had no idea how long Eames had been fighting his rut. Eames’ eyes were sharp, his presence overwhelming. Arthur longed to run into his arms and be taken, if not for anything more than to quell the ache and wanting. “No. This,” he waved between them, “it’s not fair.”

Eames swallowed and released the breath he’d been holding. He nodded quickly. “Right. I had honestly felt the same. You’ve… I don’t want you to feel obligated to me, or to have your body betray you.”

“Then what do we do? How can I stop…feeling like I’ll explode if you don’t take me to bed?”

Eames closed his eyes again. When they opened, he was standing in Arthur’s space, his hands covering Arthur’s on the table behind him. He let his forehead touch Arthur’s, whose skin felt so feverish, Eames worried for a moment. “I want you. I want your body, _so badly_ , but I want your heart most, Arthur. If we…” His claws dug into the table’s surface between Arthur’s fingers when Arthur shivered again. “If you let me take you to bed right now, it will soothe your heat, but if it’s not enough to soothe your heart, well… I think regret last longer than heats do, darling, and I want you to know now that it was never my intention to take advantage of you in your state, even though my own state is… Well, it’s nothing you don’t think I deserve, I’m sure. But for the sake of both our honor, I am leaving the palace until…I am well again, both from my rut and from my indisposition.”

Arthur was taken aback by this. “Oh?”

It took everything in Eames not to change his mind. “Yes. I am confident that the fresh air, and…and the space that you desire, will do us both some good, after all.”

Arthur could only nod at first. “That’s… that is very admirable. Thank you, your Majesty. It means…a lot to me.”

“Anything for you, Arthur. Anything.” Eames dared himself to touch Arthur. He lightly combed back Arthur’s hair and the sweat on his brow. “Goodbye. I shall return in a fortnight, god willing, to better times between us.”

“Majesty.” Arthur was going to need another bath as soon as Eames left, he could tell. His body had never reacted this way before. His heart tugged, as if caught in Eames’ aura as the werewolf kissed his forehead and trudged back to the door.

Arthur collapsed onto the bed, trying to breathe as the strongest wave of his heat gripped him. The toy smelled like Eames now. Arthur nearly fainted, at once coming undone the moment it breached his aching body.

+

 

In theory, Eames leaving should have been a blessing, a chance for Arthur to focus on his work and Eames his healing, but denying Arthur’s heat had what seemed to be far worse consequences than Eames’. He remembered Eames telling him once before that during their courtship, when they could not go to bed together, that on top of his elevated temper, his alpha rut had him sore and agitated for days, but that couldn’t possibly compare to an omega ignoring their own heats, Arthur was certain now.

Arthur woke dehydrated and battling a fever. The guards, grooms, and even poor Jeremy had to be barred from Arthur’s chambers in order to avoid incident. Only that was the best of it. The worst was the sex itself. It burned, aching, swollen and wetting itself without end. Walking, sitting, even bathing in cool water was excruciating.

When Yusuf arrived, red faced with a handkerchief held tightly over his nose, Arthur was in utter turmoil.

He lied on his bed, flat on his stomach in his robe. The attendants had every window open, and stood fanning Arthur’s fever away.

“Yusuf…I don’t understand why… this… had to happen," he panted, groaning. "We were… making so much… progress together.”

“Fear not, Majesty.” Yusuf handed the nearest lady two bottles, one filled with a clear liquid and the other opaque white. “His Majesty urged me to make something for you both. I tried to replicate your sister’s formula to suppress the King’s rut, but he has informed me, it works only a little. Rest assured, however, that his hunting trip is going well and his health is improving greatly.” He stopped rambling when Arthur moaned loudly under his pillow. “Anyways, with that being said, I could not make you a formula to end your heat, as I feared it might have adverse consequences in the future, on your reproductive abilities. Therefore, the clear one is a perfume that ought to mask your heat scent, even at this state, and the other is a topical cream to soothe your…um…your…” The ladies stared at him, expecting him to finish. Yusuf quickly bowed low and cleared his throat. “Please send me word as to whether they are beneficial. If not, I will gladly try my hand at another attempt.”

Lady Anne stepped forward. “Many thanks, your Grace.” She nodded, giving him a quick curtsied. She placed her hands politely on the Duke’s shoulders, ushering him out. 

 

The perfume worked wonders throughout the week, although Arthur’s sex could not be quieted. It's ache seemed content to never ebb until another heat could make for it this missed one. Still, he was able to rest, thanks to Yusuf's concoction. 

As more days passed, his condition improved, thankfully in time for the meeting with King Dominic’s ambassadors.

“Your Majesty,” Ambassador Belger of Runes bowed low with his partner, both kissing Arthur’s hand, “you are as wondrously beautiful as your sister, my most gracious Queen Mallorie.”

“Thank you, your Grace. I’m touched.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a fan in his free hand. Only a few members of the court were present, along with the privy council. Arthur was incredibly nervous.

“Your Majesty,” the second ambassador bowed again before continuing, “forgive me, but… This is quite a surprise to be speaking to you and not your husband, his Majesty King Eames.”

Arthur had to hold out his hand to stop the mummers that flooded the hall. “I certainly understand your hesitation, as well as the court’s. The King and his Regent, Lord Yusuf, Duke of Sansar have both placed their trust in me to carry on these proceedings in the King’s absence.”

“And, if I may ask, Majesty, where is the King?”

“Eameston, where an important matter – though not more important than your visit, of course – has caused his trip to be prolonged. Make no mistake, Ambassador, that on a matter of this caliber, I make no plans to sign on his behalf any treaty with you without my husband’s final, and always supreme, approval of the terms we set forth today.”

That put the ambassadors at ease as well as the audience.

Arthur fought the urge to accept any wine or milk offered to him, keeping his back straight, shoulders relaxed, and his face neutral, even though his fever and ache had him longing for his bed. “I’m aware that King Dominic has new terms, yes?”

“Yes, your Majesty. In the time that our proceedings were delayed and at times altogether ceased, several other kingdoms made bids for our Majesty’s loyalty.”

“I see.”

“Emperor Saito in the east offered fifty warships and your brother King Michel promised to train the Runes cavalry, although, as I’m sure you know very well, the civil war in Duval has delayed any and all passage in or out of Milecomté.”

“I am.” More murmurs filled the hall for a moment. “However, Ambassadors, I am willing to contest these offers on behalf of my husband, his Majesty. The combined forces of the Engston navy and the Isle’s shipbuilding have been proven to be far more superior than the Emperor’s own. And it is no secret that my eldest brother is a man of money, above all else. He does not offer you his services for a payable price, I’m sure.”

The ambassadors glanced at each other. “That is true, your Majesty. King Dominic wished to have several dozen Engston warships in many of our previous negotiations with King Eames, but that request was denied. And the King of Duval, your brother, did in fact ask for quite a pretty coin in exchange for his offer.”

“Then I propose a different method of payment, and will petition the King for naval ships.”

The murmurs grew louder. The ambassadors glanced at each other again. “And…what sort of payment does his Majesty request?”

Arthur thought on this for a while, thinking of what Eames would want. “Hüstablen.” He held up his hand again to quiet the rise of whispers in the hall. “It was a border city under King’s Eames’ control for half a decade until King Dominic’s forces took it back.”

“Then you surely know, your Majesty, that this city was of Runes long before falling under Engston rule. To return it would be impossible.”

“I don’t wish for that, Ambassador. My proposal is that the city be made jointly owned, as a city where our two kingdoms might flourish together, sharing culture and histories, and most importantly, it’s fort, in the event of a outside attack from our shared enemies.”

The hall was stunned into silence this time around. The ambassadors stared wide-eyed until both bowed. “Majesty,” Ambassador Belger said, “that would be an unparalleled gesture of peace and unity. We will send word to Runes.”

Arthur kept his relief concealed. He nodded. “Excellent. Our kingdom hopes for a promising response.”

+

 

A festival was held in honor of King Eames’ return to Engston and his defeat of a dragon more huge and terrible than any of his past victories. Eames looked healthy, refreshed, empowered by the showers of praise and fanfare, his ceremonial armor and crown shining bright like the sun that he was to his people.

In the eyes of the sea of happy, cheering crowds, no one in the world could have complimented the King better than the Queen, whose flower crown and light tunic, decorated with pearls made him appear as the embodiment of spring, of soft, delicateness beside Eames’ hard metal and the sword at his hip.

Eames had ridden his horse in the procession through the city only as far he needed to reach the Royal Court’s box in the stands. Arthur and the others had stood to peer over the balcony as Eames had climbed the rafters to get to the Queen and kiss his cheek. Arthur had smiled and the onlookers had cheered anew.

Arthur only stayed for as long as his presence was needed. Once the festival and tournaments had ended and the banquet drawn to a close, his attendants redressed him in less gaudy clothes. He made his way to the nursery while Eames retold stories of grand adventure and conquests in the great hall.

+

 

“Your Highness,” Lady Catherine softly spoke, suppressing the urge to massage her temples, “his title is  _your_   _Majesty_.”

Joseph’s little pout destroyed Arthur’s heart, but he dared not interfere in Lady Catherine’s lessons.

“No!” In a fit, the toddler climbed down from the couch and stomped over to Thomas, who sat on the floor in his werewolf form gnawing on a toy, and pushed him over into the small pile of toys, making the pup cry, which then woke up Albert, making him cry as well. Joseph stomped his foot, his little hands balled into fists. “Mama is  _mama_!”

Arthur picked up Thomas, patting his back as he walked to the cradle to settle Albert with several of the ladies. “Perhaps the time is too early.”

The Lady sighed. “Your Majesty is right.” She looked extremely relieved. “Werewolf children are not at all like human children. It’s difficult to estimate when they become ready to begin their lessons in vocabulary.”

"You will teach them the language of Duval as well as that of Engston?"

"Of course, Majesty. Runes as well."

Joseph watched his mother smile as Thomas licked his cheek. When Lady Marisol placed Albert in Arthur’s other arm, everyone cooed, fawning over the way Thomas sniffed at Albert before touching his curious nose to the baby’s face. Joseph shifted, tearing his little clothes and bit Arthur’s ankle.

Arthur startled in pain. “Ow! Joseph, stop it!”

“Oh, your Majesty!” The Ladies quickly took Thomas and Albert, nervously looking from the Queen to Joseph.

“Are you alright, your Majesty?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine.” He shooed away Jeremy from inspecting his ankle. He bent over to catch Joseph before the pup could run away. He shook him gently. “Shift back.”

Joseph whined and squirmed, not appreciating the fact that he was now naked in front of a room of fully clothed people.

Arthur wrapped him in a blanket, frowning. “Joseph, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. That’s the second time this month. You’re still my firstborn. Only you can hold that place in my heart. There is more than enough of my love for both you  _and_  your brothers, so what has caused you to be so… terrible…” Arthur’s face went blank as he looked at the boy who was his own little mirror image and yet it was obvious now whose personality Joseph possessed.

Thomas stood on his hind legs with his front paws balanced on Arthur’s leg, trying to get Arthur’s attention.

Arthur watched Joseph peer down at his wolf brother and wiggle, attempting to reach down and pull Thomas up. He sat Joseph on the floor. Thomas looked from his mother to his brother, moving to sit behind Arthur's leg, hesitant to be near the other boy, but Joseph hugged him in apology for making him cry.

“Your Majesty?” Lady Marisol offered him Albert.

When Arthur cradled the baby in his arms, Joseph glared at him.

“You are absolutely too much like your father, little boy,” Arthur muttered, his heart broken.

+

 

Arthur couldn’t sleep that night.

When his body’s eyes closed to sleep, his mind’s eyes looked upon Eames with longing.

He refused to let himself succumb to such persistent dreams, knowing in his heart that they were, truly only dreams. Their promises of happiness would not carry into the waking world, after all.

+


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo sorry this is late. I've been falling behind lately so the fic schedules are behind, but they're getting back on track soon, hopefully. :/

+

 

Eames paced in his office. He sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time to Arthur.

“Your Majesty,” Arthur spoke after a small lifetime of tense silence, “please don’t be cross with me. Given the circumstances, I did what I had to.”

Eames skidded to halt to stare at him. He crossed his arms. “Let me make clear this one thing before I share with you what’s on my heart. In the time span that you took the title and responsibilities as Regent away from Yusuf, in the time that I myself could not sit on my throne, you… Frankly, you were awe-inspiring. You have a _gift_ for politics and governing. It's beautiful. But I don’t bloody care about politics, Arthur. What I care about is that I was gone for two and half weeks and yet it has changed nothing! You look at me as if you'll miss the power you’d gained more than you’d missed me, your husband, your mate.” He heaved a great sigh. “ _Do_  you, honestly,  _still_  not care for me?”

Arthur shook his head slowly. “When I look at you, I see an alpha who is  _willfully_  capable and  _easily_  powerful enough to reverse every single policy, every law, every proposal that I have made, at a whim, or worse, you could change your mind about signing the Runes treaty. When you look at me, you ought to see an omega who is both…” he blushed, his eyes down and his hands balled into fists of frustration as he forced himself to continue, “who is… _afraid_  that if I share what’s on my own heart, you will punish me in such ways. You ought to see an omega who is tired of having to live with that fear.”

“Fine. I promise. Tell me.”

Arthur sighed and toyed with one of his rings. “I don’t trust your promises… your Majesty,” he muttered.

Eames stormed to him and took his shoulders in hands. “Tell me. Lay bare your heart. I demand to know now.”

Arthur inhaled deeply, meeting Eames’ eyes. “Your Majesty, I...I don’t know... if I care for you the way you want me to.” His chest hurt.

Eames took the blow from those words with surprising calm. He let go of Arthur’s arms. “Very well.”

Arthur swallowed. “What do you intend to do now, your Majesty?”

“Might I make a deal with you, at least? For you to stop calling me ‘your Majesty’ as if you are some commoner and not my spouse?” When Arthur didn’t respond, Eames clinched his jaw. He nodded. “Very well, indeed.” He smiled at Arthur politely.

Arthur followed him when he turned to leave. “Majesty? What do you intend to do? Tell me, please.”

“Something I should done much sooner had my head been in the right place. If my gestures thus far have fail, I shall have to enforce some new method.”

“What does that mean?”

“Acceptance, on my part. Don’t let it trouble you, darling. Continue to stand firm in your decisions.”

Arthur's feet stopped carrying him forward when he heard Eames' admission. The pain that gripped him was that severe. He reached into the collar of his tunic and chemise and withdrew the locket within. He touched the King's small picture, reminiscing over what they'd once had.

+

 

Even after all this time, more than a few nobles still whispered about him, but he’d long since stopped caring. They were the ones who went out of their way to bow _and_ kiss his ring, even though the former was all that was required by etiquette. It was a transparent move, one guided by self-preservation rather than loyalty or honor. After all, the Engston King was back on his throne, but the Queen from Duval still held some sway over their continued favor and positions at court.

Arthur was certain his ears were bright red under his hair, but he still smiled politely as he made his morning rounds through the palace with his attendants.

Ariadne sighed again at his side, her veil flowing behind her. “Majesty—“

Arthur held up his hands, his eyes wide. “ _I_ didn’t say anything. Did I say something?”

She glared playfully. “No, but your face is telling enough.”

He was stopped by another noble who fawned over his furs and jewels. He smiled again until the lady passed. He made a detour, rather than complete his circle, leading Ariadne and the attendants towards the nursery instead.

Down an empty corridor, he took off his crown, giving him something to look at as he blushed deeper, searching for his words. “I just…think…that…”

“How much older is the King than you, Majesty?” She put her hands on her hips as she walked, her gown rustling over the smooth stone floors. “I don’t remember.”

“Does it matter? Yusuf is older than you, me, the King, nearly everyone, save for Lady Catherine, and yet…you two…”

“Yes?”

He waved his hand between them before he sighed. “It’s just surprising, that’s all. I mean you both no disrespect, you know that.”

In truth, ‘surprised’ wasn’t the word Arthur wanted to use. It was far beyond surprising, and more than a little odd, to have stepped into Yusuf’s office and found the elder werewolf circled in Ariadne’s little arms, deep in the clutches of a passionate kiss.

“I like the Duke very much,” Ariadne stated. “He’s kind, charming, and quite attractive. What’s more, he’s too mature to possess the ego of a younger man and I have certainly had more than my fill of men my own age. One was enough.”

Arthur placed his little olive branch crown on his head. He took Ariadne’s hand. “I know well the Duke’s kindness,” he smiled, “and his charm. He is truly a gentleman among beasts. I am happy for you, Ariadne. Envious even,” he muttered, after passing another cluster of bowing nobles. "Although, you are very much deserving of the happiness you've been blessed with."

Ariadne touched his arm. “As will you be.”

He huffed, stopped again by more nobles who kissed his ring. “Your world was nothing but the darkest, blackest of nights, and yet…compared to that, I feel as though I’ve been complaining that my sun simply shines too brightly.”

“Give yourself more credit, your Majesty. Think of all you’ve accomplished, and the future you’ve paved for the boys. The precedent. There are many people who would hold you in high regard, if only they knew of how hard you’ve fought and how much you've sacrificed.”

“And the whole rest of the country would call for my head on a spike if only they knew as well. There have been enemies, betrayals, wars, villains abound, but it was I who broke the King's heart. _That_ , they would say, is the worst offense of all.” His shoulders sank as he trudged along the corridor, trying and failing not think of Eames.

+

 

Try as Arthur might, he couldn’t subdue the unpleasant feeling in his gut as he sat in his throne beside Eames as the Runes ambassadors arrived.

The privy council, parliament, and all others who were in attendance still looked upon the King as if his return to power was the herald of a new age of prosperity—in spite of the fact that it was Arthur’s tax codes and Yusuf’s new trade laws, among all of their various programs, that were bringing revenue and peace back to the kingdom.

Eames kissing Arthur’s hand brought Arthur out of his musings. He glanced at the King with a quick and polite smile.

“Ambassadors,” Eames greeted them, “I have good news for you and hope that you have good news for me as well.”

“Majesties,” Belger spoke as they both bowed low, “it is with great joy and honor that we inform you of his Majesty, King Dominic’s eagerness to form an alliance between the two kingdoms.”

Eames squeezed Arthur’s hand as he proclaimed, “Then with equaled eagerness we welcome this new bond.” He paused as the hall applauded and the ambassadors bowed again. “And to demonstrate this, the Queen and I shall make voyage to your King’s court, where the treaty shall be signed with loving heart and honest hand.”

Arthur stared at Eames as the hall applauded and the ambassadors bowed again. It wasn’t his place to speak as he had not been spoken to, but what would he say if he could? He was speechless. At last, at long last, he would see his sister again.

“As soon as plans are made for travel," Eames continued, "we will have you send word to your King.”

Ambassador Haanraath beamed as he spoke. “Your Majesty, you are a most diplomatic and generous King. We praise you and thank you for the provisions you have set forth in this treaty and for your unwavering quest towards peace.”

The hall applauded again, but Eames held up his hand. The hall fell silent at once. “It is true that I have had many accomplishments in my life and am most certain to have many more. However, in order for a King to be righteous and unwavering in truth and justice, one ought to accept praise and be revered only for that which he has done with his own hand and his own mind.” He stood and turned to Arthur. “If you wish to give praise and thanks, Ambassador, for the provisions of this treaty and for, as you said, an unwavering quest towards peace, honor my Queen.”

Arthur’s hand shot to his heart, his eyes wide as Eames applauded him, followed by the rest of the hall. The ambassadors bowed and stepped forward to kiss his ring, but his eyes stayed on Eames. “Thank you, your Majesty,” he muttered before clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

Eames turned back to the hall as the ambassadors took their leave. “If I may be frank with this court,” Eames said, “the Queen’s due honor and recognition are long overdue. That is partly my fault, and the Queen’s own. Arthur has always placed himself _behind_ his endeavors, not in front. If any of us could possess even an ounce of the selflessness that the Queen does, I think—I am _certain_ —that we would all be better men.”

Arthur watched the King speak, trying his hardest not to blush or hide in the face of so much unexpected attention. “You’re too kind, your Majesty.”

Eames huffed, giving Arthur a little smile. “You once told me that if the responsibility to lead a country fell into your hands, you would fail. I think many here can say with confidence that the opposite of this is true. You proved yourself to be far more than just a worthy Queen.”

“Majesty, you flatter me too much.”

Eames still stood tall, but he glanced at the floor for a moment and cleared his throat. “I wish to do more than that, Arthur. Kneel, please.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. It took him a moment to stand, weighed down by the silence in the hall. The silver chain hanging from the clasp for his fur-trimmed cloak swung like a little pendulum as he knelt before Eames, his eyes obediently downcast. “Majesty?” 

Eames called forward a groom holding a pillow with a silver, ruby, and pearl chain of office displayed in its center. The hall erupted in whispers.

Arthur glanced up, worried for a moment, then overcome with confusion, but he said nothing as Eames was handed the pillow.

“For your loyalty, your good and honest works, and your dedication to the well-being of this realm, I shall appoint you my privy advisor in all matters of state.”

Arthur nearly fell sideways, staring up at Eames with as much shock as what was felt by everyone, save for Yusuf. Many of the council members gasped outright, clutching their own chains.

The King’s request would have been a total shock from any other king to his queen and in any other kingdom, but for Henry Eames, the Werewolf King of Engston, with all his realms and power, to grant such access to his spouse, particularly an omega, was astounding.

The chain of office felt heavy on his shoulders, but when Arthur looked down at it shining on his chest and touched its silver, his lashes wet, Arthur knew at once that he wanted to die with this chain upon his person. In all his life, he’d never dreamed of rising to such status. As a prince, even as a queen, he was just figurehead, but this… this was…

He heard Yusuf clear his throat. He blinked up at Eames, remembering to pick his jaw from up off the floor. “Th…Ea—Majesty…thank you.”

The court bowed as he stood, but he neither saw them nor heard their whispers, his focus still on Eames.

Eames’ expression was proud, but Arthur could feel a tinge of sadness, the barrier between them. He could see it in Eames’ eyes.

Arthur kissed Eames’ cheek, earning applause and reminding him that people were still watching them. 

 

“Arthur,” Eames called after him, in the study behind the throne room once all the hall had cleared in preparation for the council meeting. “One more thing.”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“I know you don’t usually care for gifts like this,” he explained, taking Arthur’s hand, “but I want you to have it.”

“This was your mother’s?”

“My most prized possession, yes.”

Arthur admired the shining garnet stone and silver ring. “Your Majesty, I’m touched, but I can’t accept this.”

“’Course you can. It looks exquisite on you. You deserve it.” He kissed Arthur’s hand, a little smile on his face. “You know every time you blush, it reminds me of that day when I kissed you for the first time, in the gallery.”

Arthur blushed more, his ears red. “Me? Oh, I don’t remember that.”

“Liar.” Eames chuckled. “Oh, yes you do. I remember hearing your heart skip several beats in that gallery."

"I miss watching you play tennis."

"You could barely look at me back then. Nowadays, I’m just lucky when you aren’t glaring at me.”

Arthur laughed. “Speak for yourself, great Werewolf King. I’ve always been terrified of yo—” His smile faltered and he sighed.

Eames’ heart broke when Arthur lowered his eyes, his spirit heavy. “Arthur…I…” He sighed too, searching for the words he needed.

Arthur gave him a sad smile and took a step back. “Thank you for this gift, your Majesty.”

“Arthur, wait.” Eames stopped him from retreating with a gentle hand on his wrist. He stood behind Arthur and wrapped his arms around him, his face buried in the back of his shoulder and hair. “I’m… I’m immensely sorry for  _everything_ , alright?” He held him tighter. “I am. I’m sorry. I have always been a fool to you.”

Arthur closed his eyes, leaning a little back into Eames’ embrace without thinking. He placed his hands over Eames’. “I know you are, but…" He moved Eames' hands to cover his heart. "Can you feel that? Can you hear my heart now? Can you feel and hear the speed of it's beating?”

His shoulders sank. “Yes.”

“Then you know that sorry isn’t good enough, Eames. Not to expel my fear or... or to fortify my affections.” He turned to face him when Eames let him go. He pressed his forehead to Eames’, his eyes down as he took the ring back off his finger.

“Arthur, no."

He folded it in Eames’ palm and kissed his hand. “I’m sure your mother would have wanted better than this, Eames. I can’t accept this now, because this is part of an apology and it shouldn’t be treated as such. This ring is worth much more to you than that and I want it to mean as much to me as well. So, when the time is right, when we’re…when we’re both  _ready_ , then you may gift this to me and I will cherish it forever. I swear.”

He caught Eames’ face when then the werewolf nodded and swallowed. He kissed his tears and wet lashes, his hands softly caressing Eames’ jaw. His heart was weighed down when he turned to leave, but he took a deep breath and let his feet carry him away to the nursery to see the children, hoping, knowing that real change could happen now.

+

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND ALSO: 
> 
> OH MY GOD! 500 SUBSCRIBERS?! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR LOVING THIS FIC. THIS IS A HUGE DEAL FOR ME! <3 <3 <3 <3


	25. Chapter 25

+

 

The light fog and drizzle swirled around Ariadne as she slowed her horse to scent the air.

Arthur watched her quietly, guiding his horse to follow hers.

“There,” she whispered, retrieving an arrow for her bow without a sound.

He mimicked her, drawing his bow as well, mindful not to catch it on his beret. They waited, listening for the sound of snapping twigs until the stag came into view, grazing by a cluster of trees.

“Remember what I taught you, Arthur. Breathe.”

He took a deep breath and another before releasing the arrow. It was a near hit that startled the deer. Arthur sighed as it ran off towards thicker fog, but Ariadne’s arrow took the stag down.

“That’s still an improvement from last week,” Ariadne said, trotting her horse over to the tree to pull out the arrow as their small band of hunting attendants took care of her kill.

Arthur tiled his head, nodding. “I’ll accept that. Thank you.” He smiled as she shook her head at him. It wasn’t until they led their horses further into the woods that Arthur spoke again. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“I don't mind.”

“Well, you see, I’ve always been forbidden from hunting with the King—more specifically, I’ve always been forbidden from being anywhere near these grounds when he hunts, because he does so in his wolf form. Do you often hunt in yours?”

Ariadne’s eyes fell. She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur wondered what her wolf form looked like, but didn’t voice this.

“I don’t ever shift if I can help it. I have a cellar on my land that I lock myself in during the full moons. It’s not that I’m awfully dangerous, but I’d rather not be caught anywhere someone can see me when I shift back.” She blushed.

He blushed as well. “Oh. I understand.” He blushed harder when she smirked at him. “Have you ever considered what it would be like to have a pack?”

He caught her glance at her hand. Arthur quickly stopped his horse. “Oh my god…” His horse nearly collided with hers as he grabbed for her hand, seeing her engagement ring. “Ariadne!”

She sputtered for a moment before finding her words. “You miss nothing with those hawk eyes!”

“When did this happen!”

“This morning.” She lifted the hood of her cloak carefully over her jeweled headpiece and knitted bonnet, blushing deeply. “it was unexpected, but no less hoped for.”

“Oh, Ariadne, this is wonderful! No wonder Yusuf’s looked so frayed as of late. I’m sure the Duke’s heart would have been forever shattered had you refused. When is the engagement party?”

“Oh no, Majesty. We aren’t of a mind to do anything so showy and public. Although Yusuf does love a good party, but I’d rather enjoy every single day with him in peace than waste a single second of my time entertaining this court.”

“True.” He laughed. “But knowing the court, they’ll all assume that Eames and I put you both up to all this. I mean, really, who would honestly fancy a kind and decent man like the Duke, hm? Why not some loud and brash wolf, as they are the most desirable?”

She laughed harder. “But your Majesty, you know I only spend time with you to get closer to the King!”

He clutched his pearls in shock. “Of course! They were right! They were always right! Good heavens.”

“Majesty.” One the grooms hurried forward and bowed. “It looks like it might storm soon.”

“Very well, sir. Lead the way.”

“Speaking of the King,” Ariadne said after a while, “how are you, if I may ask?”

Arthur mulled it over, tilting his head. “Better. We’ve both talked a bit, here and there. Apart from the painful fact that everything’s splendid, so long as there’s no mention of Albert, we’re… we’re friends. Amicable. It’s comfortable.” He smiled, musing. “He’s charming. He’s always been so, but it’s different when he sees you as a colleague. He’s constantly pushing me past the limitations even I set for myself, and is genuinely pleased when I excel. I now understand why Yusuf’s put up with him all these years.” He glanced at her, a small smile still playing at his lips. “Say, Ariadne?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Do you think, now that you are with an honest man, that perhaps someday you might want to have little ones?”

“We’ve not yet discussed it. I was unsuccessful with my first husband, thankfully, but with Yusuf, I think we would like to try, yes. He isn’t the youngest man, but he would make a lovely father, wouldn’t he?”

“It would give me yet another reason to be envious of you. I have entreated the King to make time for his children.”

“And has he?”

“Let’s go visit Lady Catherine and ask her.”

+

 

Eames crossed his arms and frowned down at Thomas. In his crib, the pup bounced on his hind legs and fell over again and again. His little body couldn’t contain his excitement at seeing his father.

“How long did you say it was?” Eames glanced at Lady Catherine.

“Two days, your Majesty, _this_ time.”

“In total?”

“My goodness. It’s difficult to count that far, but I will say that his Highness is very often _not_ in his human form. With Joseph, he shifts when he plays and such, but young Thomas simply prefers this form, your Majesty.”

He hummed, nodding as she bowed and took her place with the other ladies near the wall. “I see.”

The once polished and ornately carved crib was scratched and gnawed beyond belief. Thomas chewed at one bar, trying to free himself from the crib’s confines rather than wait for his father to rescue him.

Eames chuckled at last and shook his head, secretly proud that his sack of potatoes liked being a wolf best. It was always so relaxing seeing the boys. Honestly, Eames enjoyed seeing Thomas best. His silly grin and pawing were always worth the visit.

“Papa?” Joseph rubbed his eyes, trying his best to appear as if he hadn’t been napping, but his yawn and heavy eyelids told the truth. He sat up, holding one of the crib's bars to keep himself upright.

“Good afternoon, little prince.” Eames smiled. He held Joseph’s face, his thumbs tickling his cheeks to make them dimple. Joseph blushed and giggled, wiggling his legs, when Eames covered his face in kisses before setting him on the floor.

Beside them, Thomas’ joy bubbled over even more to see that his brother was awake. He whined, scratching at his crib. Eames picked him up by his hind legs, swinging him upside down as he brought him over to play with Joseph on the floor.

Thomas knocked his brother over accidentally, scrambling to bounce around Eames’ legs, begging him to swing him again.

Joseph shifted, upset that Eames seemed so delighted to wrestle and play with Thomas without him. It felt like a small eternity had passed to Joseph before Eames scooped him up as well, sitting on the floor to wrestle them both.

Eames grimaced when Joseph tackled Thomas and bit his ear, making the younger pup cry. “Careful Joseph,” he warned. “Thomas is big, but he’s still a baby. Aren’t you, Thomas, my big scared boy,” he cooed, rubbing Thomas’ belly and ears.

The attendants smiled, holding Eames’ chain of office after Thomas tried to chew on it, but they all quickly and quietly rushed to Albert when the baby woke up from his nap and began to cry. They hurried to soothe him, glancing at the King nervously.

Joseph watched, alone, his father and Thomas at his right and Albert and the attendants to his left.

“Oh, Thomas, no!” Eames cursed under his breath as Thomas peed on the carpet. “Silly boy.” He picked him up, kissing Thomas’ nose as he carried him back to his crib.

Joseph whined. He made to run to Eames, but he paused, never daring to bite his father. One of the ladies picked him up and put him back in his crib beside Albert’s, where the other ladies still held the human child. It was the final straw.

Arthur and Ariadne were just about to step into the nursery when Arthur held his arm out, pausing in the doors, just in time to see Joseph reach forward over his crib to scratch Albert. He missed, his little claws catching Lady Catherine’s arm instead, who had been carrying the baby.

To everyone’s surprise, Eames roared. “Joseph!”

His anger terrified the babies. Thomas burrowed under his blankets and Albert cried louder. Joseph tried to hide in the farthest corner of his crib when Eames stomped towards him.

He picked him up by his scruff, his face close to Joseph’s. “What on earth is wrong with you? How dare you treat your little brother and these ladies like this? Has Lady Catherine not taught you better? Or your mother? Albert is a human. You could have gravely injured him, the same as you injured your nurse, and if that had happened, if you had succeeded in hurting Albert, little boy, I would have skinned your hide even before your mother’s wrath caught up you. I never want to see you behave like this again. Understand?”

Joseph whined and cried, his tail curled up close to his belly and his ears down. When Eames placed him back in his crib, he too burrowed under his blankets, although Thomas’ butt was still visible from one end of his blanket and his nose from the other in his own hiding spot.

Eames pinched his brow and sighed. He still hadn’t noticed Arthur and Ariadne spying through the opened door when he glanced over and watched Lady Catherine try to rock Albert, in pain, but the baby’s nerves refused to be settled. “Madam?”

“Majesty?”

“Are you alright? Give him here.”

Everyone was stunned to silence for a moment as Eames held out his hands for Albert, freeing Lady Catherine to check her arm. “Let’s have a look.”

“You are most kind, your Majesty.” She curtsied, watching Eames handle Albert with the utmost care. He held the little baby in the crook of his arm, Albert’s bonnet-covered head resting snug against his chest, his small bundled feet cupped in Eames’ hand.

Eames peered down at Albert with a critical eye. “What’s wrong with him?”

Ariadne made sure that she and Arthur were still hidden from view as they watched Lady Catherine glance nervously from Albert to Eames’ imploring gaze.

“Nothing, your Majesty. A little unsettled, perhaps, but…”

Eames sniffed him, catching Albert’s attention. The baby startled, expecting to see one of the nurse’s faces. His bewilderment and curiosity made him forget why he was crying.

Eames examined the thin, bleeding scratches on Lady’s Catherine’s arm and her damaged sleeve.

“I’m fine, your Majesty. I swear.”

“Have the wounds cleaned and covered with clove ash before you bandage them. It’ll lessen the burn.”

“Yes, Majesty. Thank you.”

“And don’t worry, madam,” Eames teased, although he still frowned down at Albert, “you’re no more a werewolf now than when you woke up this morning.”

She and ladies breathed a little more easy at his words, but they all still watched Eames, waiting for him to hand Albert back to Lady Catherine.

Instead, Eames continued to look him over. “Madam?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“Is he supposed to be this small?”

“He is a bit under the normal size, your Majesty, but only just so. Human children do not grow as quickly as werewolves, it seems.”

“Hm.” He nodded slowly. “He is Arthur’s little apple, indeed.” He chuckled. “And…will he grow much in the coming year?”

Lady Catherine fought to hide her smile. “He has blossomed a lot already. He is, after all, an Eames.”

Eames looked at her for a moment. He flashed her a quick smile that lingered when he looked down at Albert again. “That's true. But he doesn't have any teeth. See?"

She smiled as Albert tried to gum Eames' fingers when he opened his mouth. "It will take time, Majesty."

"Oh. Madam?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“Are his brothers careful with him? The nurses don’t leave them unsupervised, correct?”

“Oh no, Majesty. Albert stays confined to his crib and to my care. Human children, you see, spend most of this time sleeping and teething. The other boys are much too large and rough. It isn’t safe.”

“Right. Well, make sure that Joseph and Thomas are careful with him always, and that they are quiet, so that Albert may have the rest he requires.”

“Certainly, Majesty.”

“Especially Joseph.” Eames cut his eye at Joseph. He and Thomas both were peeking from under the blankets at Albert. “He has a duty to lead and protect his siblings. Make sure that he knows this and behaves accordingly. And make sure that all your ladies are mindful of their health in order to prevent Albert from falling ill.”

“Yes, your Majesty. We are all extremely cautious.”

“Good. Good. And—”

The creaking door caught everyone’s attention. Arthur blushed beside Ariadne. He quickly stood up straight as the ladies curtsied in greeting. He sputtered at first, but then took a moment to clear his throat. “Majesty, ladies. Carry on as you were.”

Ariadne quickly gathered her dress as she stepped back for Arthur to close the doors. She smiled at him brightly as he stared at her, lost for words.

The grooms opened the doors again for Eames to leave. Ariadne watched with amusement as Arthur and Eames shuffled their feet, unsure of what to do or say to each other.

“Did you and Lady Ariadne enjoy your hunt?” Eames said at last.

Arthur nodded quickly, self-consciously touching his damp hair, his beret, and his clothes, making sure he didn’t look awful next to Eames’ clean and crisp person. “We did! I almost took down a stag.”

“Oh…” Eames’ brow rose.

“Better than the last time when I completely missed,” Arthur explained.

“Oh, I see. Then that’s excellent, Arthur. I’m proud.” He smiled.

Arthur blushed. “Thank you, Majesty. Lady Ariadne is a wonderful teacher. Oh, don’t forget that we have a sitting with Mr. Daniels for a portrait tomorrow morning.”

Eames nodded. “Right.”

Arthur nodded too. “Right.”

“Arth—”

“Yes, Majesty?”

Ariadne cleared her throat to cover her laugh.

Eames scratched his chin. “Would you find it pleasing to take your breakfast with me tomorrow before we see Mr. Daniels?”

Arthur could feel Ariadne’s stare. He cleared his throat again. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. That would be…pleasing, your Majesty.”

Eames smiled again, seeming to gather control over his fidgeting. He stood up straighter. “Then I shall visit your chambers tomorrow morning then.” He bowed his head politely, preparing to take his leave. “Good evening, Lady Ariadne… Arthur.”

Arthur bobbed a little as Ariadne curtsied. “Majesty.”

“My goodness,” Ariadne sighed once the King and his grooms turned the corner.

“Shut up, Ariadne,” Arthur grumbled, ducking into the nursery.

+ 

  


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry again, folks! I've been writing so many other fics! T___T
> 
> (and thank you, tamat9, for pointing out those epic typos and grammar disasters in this chapter, my god, they were many!)

+

 

Mr. Daniels glanced at them and sighed again. “Your Majesty! Please!”

Arthur startled at Mr. Daniels’ raised voice. He sat up straighter in the chair and touched Eames’ arm, silently asking the King not to lash out at the man.

Eames glanced at him the second the painter turned his back. “Troubled night?” He whispered. “You were perfectly fine at breakfast.”

“I’m _bored_. Terribly bored.”

“Ah…” Eames chuckled.

Arthur’s thigh had to be bruised under his tights, but he would rather have Eames pinch him when he nodded off instead of the painter yelling at him one more time.

He winced when Eames’ claw pricked him again. Every time he blinked it seemed more and more difficult to open his eyes. He moved minutely, but still Mr. Daniels caught him.

“Majesty,” the man warned, “keep your fingers laced with His Majesty’s. Yes, perfect.”

Arthur blushed and sighed, wanting to roll his eyes, but he’d be scolded for that as well, he was sure.

Eames tapped his thigh, impatiently, his hand hot over Arthur’s. His neck cracked when he stretched, but when the painter turned to them, intent to speak, Eames needed only to raise his brow for the man to keep silent.

“Arthur?”

Arthur’s voice matched Eames’ hushed tone. “Majesty?”

“Has the Duke of Temborlocke responded to your letter yet?”

Arthur yawned. “No, Majesty. He still believes he is above reproached from withholding the farmers’ pay. Apparently that money would be better spent building his mistress a house.”

Eames growled. “Have Lord Yusuf draft an arrest warrant to be carried out upon our return from Runes.”

Arthur startled again, blinking back his doze. “Yes, Majesty. Don’t forget your meeting with the Baroness this afternoon.”

“Can’t that be postponed?”

“ _Again_ , Majesty?”

“ _Yes_ , again. I don’t want to see her.”

“She is your kin, Eames.” Arthur bit back his laugh when Eames whined. “Wouldn’t the children like to meet their aunt, and she them?”

“No! Not today, not next year. Not ever, Arth—”

“ _Majesty_ ,” Mr. Daniels gritted.

Then the worst happened. Eames sighed and crossed his arms, slouching.

Mr. Daniels stared. He looked to Arthur with pleading eyes, willing him to persuade the King not to the ruin the portrait they’d already sat hours for.

“Majesty,” Arthur tried, yawning behind his hand.

Eames glanced over at him, his frown softening and his ears pink as Arthur reached across them and took Eames' hand back, placing it where it ought to sit on his thigh in the portrait.

“I don’t like you, Arthur,” Eames stated.

Arthur blinked back. “Neither does Joseph when I let Lady Catherine discipline him.”

“You awful little demon thing. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Majesty.” Arthur patted his hand. “I will unleash hell upon you if your temper tantrum costs Mr. Daniels and myself all these hours.”

Eames’ eyes narrowed. They locked gazes, for a moment forgetting to be so awkward and unfamiliar with each other.

Arthur cleaned his throat, ignoring his blush as he looked away.

Eames followed suit.

His teasing did not lay dormant for long, however, when he griped, “Now I remember why we no longer play cards together.” He sat up finally, pricking Arthur’s thigh, though without malice.

Arthur fought the smile creeping onto his face. He stared forward, reposing himself. “Because I always win?"

"Don't be silly, boy."

"You honestly forgot the staggering number of times I beat you, _and_ let you win, Majesty?”

Eames snorted, fighting back a grin as he too sat as still as a statue for the happy painter. “You’re dreaming.”

“Fine. I'll prove it. Tonight. Bring your cards to supper, and we’ll see once and for all.”

"Oh I so would, but I must meet with the Baroness, correct?”

“You don’t want me to reschedule her visit?”

“Of course not! It would be rude.”

“Ah… Right, of course. Quite convenient, your Majesty—”

Mr. Daniels turned on them both, pointing his brush at them threateningly. “ _Majesties… please… just…hush!_ ”

“See what you’ve done, Arthur?” Eames muttered, staring forward.

Arthur’s composure faded at last into a fit of snickering. Mr. Daniels sighed loudly, shaking his head.

Eames yawned. “Bloody hell, this painting. What is the headcount for our traveling party?”

Arthur frowned, thinking. “Three-hundred and sixty-four?”

Eames balked, turning towards Arthur. “What on earth? Who the hell are they all—” He growled when Mr. Daniels cleared his throat.

Arthur smirked. “The list has already been narrowed down from five-hundred, Majesty. They’re counts, dukes, your cousins, the dukes' cousins, nieces, nephews, _our_ attendants, _your_ grooms, guards, the seamstresses, your pack, their servants, our servants, everyone’s servants, most of their households…”

“Good god.” Eames rubbed his face. “And we all have to wear those foolish hats.”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, still trying to sit still for Mr. Daniels. “Those hats are court custom there.”

“They will look awful on us, as they do on their people.”

“Us? Oh, I’m not wearing one.”

“Then…why must I?”

“You know why. They are reserved for men, whether alpha or beta, and not omegas.”

“Your sister's husband and his people are utterly ridiculous, Arthur. Just because one pricks his spouse, he has to wear one of those _things_  on his head? There will be no more fabric left in all of Runes when we arrive with half of our Engston court! Wait…no. As King, I must wear my crown, correct?”

Arthur glanced at Eames, pitying him none. “There is a special kind of hat for a King, your Ma—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake! God damn these god damned hats!”

Arthur doubled over with laughter. "Oh, Mr. Daniels, I'm sorry! I swear!"

“Goodness, Majesty!” Mr. Daniels threw down his brush and tossed up his hands. “I give up!”

+

 

They sat across from each other at supper, their attendants flanking the wall.

The ease of the afternoon had somewhat dissolved by the time Arthur had left the nursery and arrived in the King's chambers. They ate in silence until Arthur realized that most of the food on his plate had just been played with and moved around.

He sighed. “We’ll be leaving for Runes in a few breaths, it seems.”

Eames put down his half eaten bread. “That’s true. You’re troubled?”

“It will be the first time that we…” Arthur sighed, angry with himself for not being able to control his emotions. He couldn’t finish.

“The children?”

Arthur nodded down at his lap. “They’re all still so young. And we'll be so far away. If something were to happen to us…”

“Darl— _Arthur_ , don’t worry. Joseph and Thomas are—”

“ _Albert_ , Eames,” Arthur muttered to Eames' chest. “What of our Albert, who has nothing?”

“Oh.” Eames sat back. "I see."

After a moment of tense silence, Eames spoke again. “I am still concerned about his lack of teeth—”

“He can’t even sit up yet on his own, Eames. Of course he would not have teeth yet.”

“I’m concerned about his constant lying down as well. Is that normal?”

“Yes. A thousand times so.”

“Hm.” Eames nodded. “I would like to recommend to Lady Catherine not to give him such soft, mashed foods with his milk feedings. That can’t be good for encouraging teeth. And she lays him on his back all the time. Must he be taught to sit, or—?” Eames frowned. “Arthur, why are you laughing?”

Arthur shook his head. “He’s _healthy_.” He blushed. “I meant not to offend you, Husb—your Majesty.”

Eames glanced up and nodded. 

Arthur sighed as Eames grew quiet and contemplative. “My apologies.”

“No, I just… There has not been one human child born to an Eames in… _centuries_. It’s easy to forget, to... to misunderstand. Even as I am now, I’m still not immortal, and yet…I still forget our short history. Arthur, do you think that Albert would like—”

“No. I won't allow for him to be changed. He need not possess supernatural qualities to be a strong or respected man, Eames. Just look to my brother Paul.”

“Or _you_.”

Arthur sputtered for a heartbeat. “Majesty, your flattery is unnecessary.”

“I speak only truth. Albert already possesses so much of you. Even as a toothless little log, our apple easily sways ones heart without effort.” He glanced down at his hands, remembering how small Albert was in them when he’d last held him. He huffed bitterly. “Indeed, being born a wolf in no way makes one wiser than other creatures. Perhaps the blood makes us less so,” he mused sadly.

Eames studied Arthur in the candlelight of the parlor, wishing he could touch the tiny golden threads that sparking around Arthur’s velvet collar. "Regardless, I… have lost much as a result of such blindness, and with a heart smaller than any child's, pup or not.”

Arthur swallowed thickly, his chest aching as Eames lowered his eyes and frowned. Arthur took a moment to formulate his words, although it was difficult, distracted by his innermost desire to lay bare his heart to Eames. “Majesty,” he whispered. “ _Eames_ … You know, I believe that… what is lost in life often times is… able to be… replaced, or… or even regained.”

“Ah, but never the same as what was.”

Arthur smiled softly as he shook his head. He felt inexplicably nervous as he spoke. “No. It’s better, your Majesty. Sometimes, it’s much, much better.”

+

 

The tears Eames shed gave him no embarrassment. They mirrored Arthur’s own, and what could be embarrassing about that?

He rubbed Arthur’s shoulders, his fingers catching on the pearls, the soft chemise peeking through, and the pale silk bows decorating the omega’s sleeves as the titles and lands were named, all gifted to the child Arthur held.

Eames fought the urge to caution Arthur to be careful. The protectiveness he felt, which was perhaps a tad extreme, kept Eames as close to Arthur’s back as possible, ever watchful, ever worrying. But Albert could not be safer in anyone else’s arms. Arthur cradled Albert’s little blonde head and his body, rubbing Albert’s belly in soothing circles with the thumb of his free hand.

Arthur rubbed Albert’s soft, dimpled hands and legs, his lips whispering a song in his language to the boy as the priests trickled holy water on Albert for his baptism.

Eames squeezed Arthur’s arms gently, not thinking as he pressed a kiss in Arthur’s hair. He remembered both Joseph and Thomas at their christenings, the way their eyes had drifted from person to person, distracted by every candle flame, every glitter and sparkle of jewel, and by the sun’s light shining through each pane of stained glass.

But Albert only had eyes for Arthur, and Eames knew exactly why. He knew as well that Arthur would not want to have to miss another christening in bed post-labor. They would wait, and share this moment together from now on.

He kissed Arthur’s hair again before Arthur raised the boy to his lips for his own kisses over Albert’s cheeks.

Eames knew then, totally, that he had been a fool. His love for both Arthur and their son was boundless, and he would make sure that Albert knew that.

+ 

 

The morning of the voyage to Runes was filled with more tears as Arthur and Eames gave their kisses and goodbyes to the children.

Arthur had not stepped foot on a ship in over three years. He glanced back at Ariadne who was still waving farewell to Yusuf.

Everything was so different now. He was terrified, settling into his and his attendants’ private quarters onboard. What would Runes be like? What would Mal, with Dom and her children, be like?

Oh would he and his sister even know each other anymore? He hoped so. He hoped that she would be proud of the person he’d become.

“Arthur?”

He turned his gaze away from his writing desk to Eames as the ladies and Jeremy greeted the King.

“Majesty?”

The attendants pretended not listen in the cramped space.

Eames stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Are you comfortable in here? My room is larger, if you wish to switch.”

“Oh no, we’re fine, Majesty. An extra foot or so wouldn’t be worth carting all these crates and cases back and forth. Thank you, though. I do appreciate the offer.”

“Good—I’m glad, I mean, that you…” Eames waved between them, trying to convey his point and only succeeding in making the youngest girls giggle behind their hands. “Well, if you need anything at all, I won’t be far.”

“Good, your Majesty. I’ll just be…working on some documents until supper.”

Eames looked as if on the tip of his tongue was a request to stay and work with Arthur, but he grinned instead. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As soon as Eames left, the girls began whisper to each other, still giggling.

“Oh, my ladies,” Arthur sighed, massaging his temples. “Even if the King were not a werewolf, he can still hear you all through this thin wall. He’s just on the other side of it.”

Jeremy’s brow rose. He smirked. “Well, your Majesty,” he said in a purposefully loud voice, “at what times should we _undress_ you? Should we remove your _tights_ and replace them before lunch or just before supper? Should we remove all but your chemise afterwards for bed—” He ducked the slipper Arthur threw at him.

Arthur blushed furiously, chasing Jeremy in the tiny space. “I swear, I should have left you _all_ home! You’re _all_ awful!” 

 

+

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks back to blow the dust off this fic* Is anybody still here??
> 
> Mega apologies for the huge delay. Life, babies, other fics, a JOB, and even more fics, just kinnnnda kept this fic on the shelf. Kinda. Okay who am I kidding? XC
> 
> AFTER OVER 700 PEOPLE HAVE NOW SUBSCRIBED TO THIS FIC??? AND IT'S BEEN HOW MANY YEARS SINCE AN UPDATE? D':
> 
> I'm nervous, I'm underslept, and I'm hoping you all still enjoy the read! If you can, please, please, please comment. Comment if you like it, comment if you hate it, and stick around for a possible second chapter tonight or tomorrow for Christmas Day! <3
> 
> A few years(?) ago when life was simple, I did a His Darling chapter marathon release for Christmas, and it was awesome. I'm hoping with all hope that I can trrry to squeeze another chapter in today or tomorrow just to thank everybody for keeping this fic close and for all the encouraging and inquiring comments. I appreciate them all! And thanks as always to tamat9 and velificantes for proofreading and helping whenever yall could! <3

+

 

The seas were foggy the early December morning that their ships saw the lights of Runes on the horizon.

Runes was not always a country fashioned in opulent detail or style. Prior to the Cobb dynasty, its beauty rose solely in their architecture and engineering up such jagged coasts and high mountains. Its shores were some of the most difficult to maneuver out of any Eames had seen given the type of waves known to batter these coasts.

However, such conditions only made for a spectacular port. No wood for docks and piers on these sharp-cliffed shores, but mighty stone enchanted and carved from the land itself. Marble capped each carved pier, the ports outer walls covered in sea vine and the gold chains leashed to the ogres made to guard and operate them. Beyond, on the far side of the shore, even larger creatures with their pulleys and cables worked hard to drive a massive, curved wall in closer from the outer waters, creating a tidal wave.

Eames stood on the bustling deck, watching the wave lift and guide their ships closer to the docks where more men and beasts were ready to usher them safe and snug against their respective piers. The wave crashed over the smooth stone, flooding the platforms and swirling down the rows of drains that led the water back out to sea.

“Your Majesty,” a guard announced, “Queen Arthur.”

Eames turned to greet him as the deckhands and guards paused to bow for Arthur as he cleared the stairs. The hard winds held Arthur’s hair captive, his lovely pearl color tunic and bear fur-lined cloak rustling about him. Beautiful. “Are you well, my Queen?”

Arthur nodded, sweeping his ringed hands across the railing, looking out at the docks. “I am, your Majesty. My attendants are not. Is this port system with its waves _really_ necessary?”

Eames chuckled, grimacing. “My grooms would ask the same if they too were not so sickened.”

Arthur nodded, a hint of a smile gracing his rosy cheeks. He stood on tiptoes, leaning on the railing to peer down to the stone platform where betas and alphas both moved together, pulling ropes as thick as tree trunks from the ship, tethering it as the last strong ripples from the waves rushed past their legs and swirled down the many drains. “Majesty—“

“Darling?“

Arthur smiled a little, pausing to brush his hair back. “ _Majesty_ ,” he said softly, “I will be sending letters from the voyage to Lady Ariadne. You may…” He tapped his fingers on the railing, his brow knitted as he gathered his resolve. “If you have letters as well that you wish to have delivered, you may have your secretary carry them… together, yours and mine.”

Eames forced his face to remain neutral, nodding curtly. “That would be…” He tilted his head, thinking twice. “No need,” he informed him, watching Arthur’s face fall. “I have already arranged for the transport of my correspondences to Lord Yusuf.”

“Oh! Right. Of course.”

“ _I am teasing you_ ,” Eames informed him, then, smirking devilishly.

Arthur’s frown only deepened. “Oh,” he flatly remarked. “I see.”

Eames leaned against him, his brow arching, softening Arthur’s scowl as he pressed his elbow into Arthur’s side. He grinned as Arthur rolled his eyes. “I would have my letters bound to yours forever—for strictly political reasons, of course. And no, this is _not_ my worst attempt ever at being flirtatious.”

Arthur shook his head, sighing. “Do you… Never mind.”

“Tell me. Am I being too—”

“Oh no, I simply… meant to ask if…” Arthur search for the words, rubbing his cold hands together before Eames offered him his own gloves. His ears grew hot, his cheeks warming. He studied the alpha as Eames looked out at the high cliffs and inhaled the salty air, his chest rising and falling under his heavy furs and doublet. Beautiful. He felt silly, censoring himself now. “It has been more than three years since my sister and I last shared company. What if those years and children and a husband, a kingdom and its wars, what if she and I are no longer familiar?”

Eames took a step back carefully, needing to ground himself in this moment where the timid, fearful boy he once knew now peered out of the wiser, stronger youth now standing before him. Arthur's brow was knitted, jaw tight, his narrow eyes focused on the waves as if to find his answer there. He covered Arthur's gloved hand and kissed it. “I think back to the day of Joseph’s birth, when it was her magic that saved you, not my blood. You and her have a bond that is unbreakable, strong even in years and distances. You are not the boy you once were, no, but she will love the young man you’ve become.”

“And what of her husband?” Arthur asked more gravely, his brow raised as gilded orange and red carriages that were round like great pumpkins circled the winding road, steep down the hillside. “He too is surely a different man now.”

Eames laughed, spotting the over the top hats worn by the carriage drivers. Forgetting himself, he pulled Arthur close and whispered playfully in his ear, “You turned my cannons from his borders. If it were possible for one to love you more than I do, he may very well prove to be the most capable man for it.”

+

 

Arthur frowned from the clothes he was expected to wear to the Runes two seamstresses and their excited faces then to his own attendants. “Oh my.”

They stood around him, all stiff and awkward in their own low cut but high, thick, ballooning shoulder sleeves, their bright yellow chemises barely covering their breasts but exploding through the slits along their arms down to their wrists. They stepped on each others skirts, rigid in their corsets, with Jeremy near waddling to move in the large, stuffed doublet and hose, his large and feathery hat heavy on his head, his tights as multicolored as the suit and their gowns were.

Arthur sighed, forcing a smile that only strengthened at the thought of what Eames would surely look like in his clothes. “This… is…”

“A combination, your gracious Majesty,” one seamstress said, her Runes lilt soft as she spoke Arthur's language, rather than Eames’, “of your dazzling omega beauty and of your fierce but charming masculinity.”

“Oh… splendid.” He cut his eyes at his snickering attendants. “Alright then. Let's see how this works!”

+

 

“Majesty,” Jeremy politely chided again, toying with his own frilly cuffs as he reminded Arthur not to worry his.

Arthur sighed, or rather tried to. He had been squeezed into a tight but voluminous gown of all the various shades of blue, the neck low, shoulders ballooning and sleeves much like his attendants though covered in silk and ribbons and jeweled clasps. The skirts were all left open like a coat train, revealing light blue tights and a bejeweled codpiece that did not rest well between his legs. But the fur overgrown trailed so far Jeremy had to keep it from catching in the corners or statues as they made their way slowly out of their shared rooms with Eames.

Arthur choked, seeing the King in his own ballooned and brightly colored clothes. He curtsied, feeling his ribs protest.

Eames frowned, extending his elbow for Arthur to take. “Are you well in… in that?”

Arthur could only shake his head at first. “It's difficult to breathe in this corset. You're lucky.”

“Bullshit!” Eames whispered, rubbing his waist. “ _I'm_ in a corset! Have you ever heard of such nonsense? They squeezed me into a corset and then stuffed my suit with padding to make me look as big as I was before!”

Arthur snorted. “Well… your hat, your Majesty, is simply a thing of wonder.” He smiled, reaching up to feel the wide brim with its fur and feathers nearly obscuring Eames’ face, and the silk ribbon tied under his jaw to keep the heavy hat in place. A little silver figurine of a wolf stood howling up at the tallest feather from its place on the velvet band, and tumbling down the back of the hat, the bright blue band swayed nearly to the floor. “What a sight, Majesty.”

Eames growl turned several heads in their direction. “Oh so the little peacock has a sense of humor,” he teased back.

“If you can call me such. With this fur train and the little fox tails on the end I may be more beast than bird.” He frowned, studying the fur framing his chest and belted tightly above his waist as he pet its softness.

“And your chain of office is…” Eames cleared his throat. “My apologies.”

“Oh no. What's wrong with…” He frowned only deeper when he followed Eames’ gaze.

“Were we in your mother country of Duval, it would be obscene.”

“It is.” Arthur had to fight the urge to pull his chemise higher up on his chest or tug the overgrown to hide it, where his chain of office and the necklace to his hidden locket did nothing but draw ones eye directly to that low swooping neckline and his pale little rounds nearly spilling out of his undergarment.

Eames pointed his chin. "What necklace is that? Underneath?"

"Nothing!" Arthur quickly leaned away, covering his heart the corset had the locket tight against his skin. "I... I didn't know that I even still had breasts from my last carrying, even this small, but this bodice leaves nothing hidden.” He blushed, realizing, as he covered his chest with the feather fan he was given, that he had not had many occasions to be naked since Albert's late carrying. Before now, it had seemed ages ago since Albert had been born, but indeed, not much time had truly passed.

He looked at Eames, catching him staring as if in a daze. He elbowed him, but only found himself surprised by how naturally they fell into holding one another, with Eames’ arm circling his belt, his large hand resting on his hip.

He stood a little apart from Eames, that hand now falling to his lower back. He glared at his smirking attendants, _and_ the King's grooms who smiled right along with them.

The corridor led to a checkerboard patterned parlor just beyond the Great Hall where King Dominic’s court danced and chattered in waiting for their arrival.

King Dominic had never been young to Arthur during his and Mallorie’s secret and scattered courtship. He was a stout man now, his belly soft, his hair greying at the temples, but his smile was one Arthur could not easily forget, his hair peeking wild from under his large, golden hat. His suit sparkled, the train of his dragon scale overgown pooling at his feet.

“Goodness gracious,” Eames swore under his breath as he and Arthur stood before him. “What the hell is that?”

“Eames, stop it,” Arthur hissed, smiling as Dominic stood and approached him, kissing both of Arthur’s dimples soundly. “Your Majesty.”

“Little Brother of My Heart’s Keeper!” The King proclaimed, his northern accent as thick as a knife as he hacked through Eames’ language. He beamed, proud as his court applauded them. “You grow fast!”

“I did!”

Dom glanced at Eames, eyeing him. His smile tightened. “King Eames. A pleasure.”

Eames’ smiled tightly as well. “Likewise. Your palace and kingdom are both… lively.”

Dominic hummed, nodding slowly, speaking to Arthur in his language rather than Eames’, his accent even heavier but he spoke with a practiced ease. “So uncultured, Arthur. What a pity that your magnificent brain and beauty could not be paired with an equally magnificent husband.”

Arthur looked to Eames’ frown, relieved that it was one of confusion. He laughed nervously at Dom. “Well,” he replied, unable to remember the last time he’d spoken the language of his country and kin, “my wish is _only_ that this treaty summit will help you to see that I did indeed marry such a man.”

“Hm.” Dom smiled at Eames again before he extended his hand to the throne chairs positioned beside his and Mallorie’s. “For your Majesties.”

“Where is my sister?”

“Ah yes. She wish… uh, surprise to you?” Dom sighed as he sat with them, laughing merrily as he leaned down cozily to Arthur, speaking his language once more. “Arthur, brother under God and Goddess, your assistance, please, so that your… ‘gentleman’ may understand me.”

“You mean to say that Mal wishes to surprise me?” Arthur said, trying to subdue his laugh when he glanced to Eames and saw how offended his frown was at Dom’s mangling.

“Of course.” Dom grinned, his hands steepled over his stomach as he spoke to Eames. “See you, Wolf King,” he teased, tickled by the hall's applause, “I speak language of Engston perfectly!”

Arthur took Eames’ hand and squeezed it threateningly.

Eames huffed, smiling. “May I become so fluent in Runes in turn.”

“Easy,” Dom assured. “Take words, then… mash them together! Runes!” He laughed. “Or so, tell people to me, come from other country.”

Arthur's face fell for a moment before he sighed into his hand. He laughed at Dom's pointed stare. “Mal was a cruel girl,” he explained to Eames, “who would not so much as glance at Dominic until he learned to say ‘ _I love you_ ’ in our language. At first it did not go so well. Mal was not impressed.”

Eames propped his chin on his hand, leaning on Arthur's chair. “ _I love you_ ,” he said in Arthur's language, his voice low and graveled. “The most romantic language of them all and one not spoken nor heard enough.”

Dom’s eyes grew mischievous watching them. “What beautiful love,” he sighed, amazed and delighted.

Arthur and Eames blushed, sputtering, but it was Eames who spoke first. “Thank you.” 

Dom chuckled before he turned his attention to a young maiden with wine.

Eames feigned a close examination of the decorated pearl on Arthur's ear and smirked. “His accent is _much_ more funnier than yours, and I recall you having none of his trouble when learning my language. Is he a little daft?” He grunted as Arthur elbowed him, hardly feeling it through the thick padding in his doublet. 

"It's a ruse," Arthur whispered. "Dom speaks five languages.  _Yours_ ," he said, pointing to Eames' chest as the alpha sat stunned, "he speaks, reads, _and_ writes even more fluidly than I do."

“Oh look!” Dom pointed to the high balcony as a raven appeared on the flower covered railing. “Your sister!”

The court turned to the bird, the musicians playing a darker, slower tune as the raven fluttered its wings, blowing bright green smoke from beyond the veils behind it.

Arthur sat forward, gripping the arms of his chair and startled a little when his hand covered Eames’ for a moment.

The raven flew down, swooping back up in a circle, again and again until the green smoke formed a whirling wind, thick and ethereal. They all gasped as the raven disappeared into the smoke, vanishing.

And there she was as the smoke collapsed and began to clear, the emeralds sparkling on her extravagant dress, her rings, and large necklaces and crown, her long hair like a waterfall over her shoulder. The back of her collar rose high, like woven vines, framing her face and neck.

Arthur found himself standing, speechless, in awe, not only of her beauty but of the shocking power of her sorcery. Her smile left him feeling spellbound as she picked up her skirts to hurry to him, nearly knocking him down with her embrace.

Her cheeks were wet against his when she kissed his ears. She held his face fondly. “My dearest. Just look at you.” Overcome, she peppered his face with more kisses. “The greatest gift the cold winds of the Winter Solstice could have brought to me. My Arthur. You rose to glory just as I knew you would, and you are still yet ascending, Privy Advisor of the King of Engston.” She chuckled, taking her throne beside Dom, eyeing Eames with a look Arthur couldn’t place. “We’ll talk more later.”

Later could not arrive soon enough for Arthur. For all of Dom’s own elaborate gifts, of jewels and plays and dances alike, it was only proper that Eames reciprocated in equal if not grander measure, but most importantly, with his agreement at long last to the proposed engagement of Phillipa and Joseph. And the treaty, unrolled and presented on silks like the very sword Excalibur itself upon a table that was not nearly long enough to support the whole document.

Arthur himself had to read, word for word, first in the language of King Dominic’s for his court, then for his and Mallorie’s own Duval, and lastly in Eames’ for his court and those join alliances in attendance.

He wasn't alone in his struggle not to yawn by the time he’d finished. 

"Well," Dominic sighed, clapping his hand on Eames' shoulder, "it is with my greatest honor," he said to his people with Arthur translating to Eames in a hushed voice, "to welcome a former foe turned brother for life. May we both reap the bounties of this more glorious new partnership."

Arthur stepped back to let the two grumbling Kings decide who would sign their name to the treaty first. He found himself in Mallorie’s aura, her gentle hands on his arms.

She kissed his cheek softly as he joined the applause that filled the room. “Don’t be fooled, my Arthur,” she murmured in his ear, “they all clap for _you_ , and for what you’ve done for our countries, for our families.”

Arthur glanced around the Great Hall, catching more than a few eyes sneaking glances at him in open wonder and curiosity.

+

 

The years apart _did_ feel as long as a lifetime. Away from Mallorie, away from the world. The Engston islands and its continental peninsulas, which Arthur had yet to even see with his own eyes… it all felt so far removed from time itself, given the distances. And that palace, with Joseph and Thomas and his little apple Albert…

“You miss them,” Mallorie said to him softly, as they sat together on a fainting couch in the corner at the private party in her parlor, lazily playing a game of chess.

He lay against her side, missing the way she combed her fingers through his longer hair the moment she paused as he took one of her pawns. “Always. But I had expected to see your little ones by now? How is your newborn James?”

Mallorie resumed her petting. “My Dominic is being very cautious with them both. They catch fever so quickly in this season, and with guests, even family, he isn’t inclined to take risks.”

“I understand. Albert’s own welcoming into the world was…” He looked to Eames, who stood in the middle of the room’s guests with Dom teaching him hand to hand combat a little too roughly. “Well, not a kind one for his health.”

“He is _so_ precious,” Mallorie cooed. “All three of your sons are. I absolutely adore the little portraits you sent of them.”

He smiled sadly, still watching Eames laugh with Dom as they were encouraged to a rematch, their hats long gone and their long overgowns as well. “Yes…” He hadn’t yet noticed Eames’ weight gain until now, so much more healthy and so much like the alpha from their late courtship. “And your daughter is beautiful, Mal. I trust that James is already as charming as his father.”

He lost himself for a moment, watching Eames and Dom circle each other, how Eames withheld his strength, careful and mindful, respectful even, of Dom’s age as they tussled. In the heat of the hearth’s roaring fire, their skin glistened a little. He thought of those hands and Eames’ broad shoulders, his full lips framed by his beard…

Mallorie was laughing quietly, letting Arthur play both his hand and hers on the chessboard. “James’ nurses are smitten. He reminds me of Paul sometimes for how mischievous his little smile is…” She tilted her head, studying Arthur for a moment. “What troubles you? Your letters of late seemed more than a little distracted.”

He roused himself a little, playing another game against himself when Mallorie’s white cat pounced into her lap, demanding her attention. He touched the little ivory knight to his lips, catching Eames’ eye before they both quickly looked away. “I… have grown out of my childhood understanding of love,” he mused, only confusing her more. “The more I find my footing as a Queen, even as an omega, the more I… For a while I felt as though I was… drifting away.”

Her fine brow furrowed. “From?”

“From him," it hurt to admit, even after all their conflicts. "And in our darkest hour, rather than bring me back to shore, he let me drift on, until we were both lost at sea.”

“And now?”

Arthur took a deep breath, watching Eames dance with one of Dom’s young nieces in a sea of Dom’s cousins as musicians played a lively tune. He shook his head, smiling softly. “Well… we’re back on the shore…”

“ _But_ …”

“But it’s… rocky and… loose sand. Our feet have not stood on this shore before.”

“Of course! Give yourselves time to find your footing.”

He sat up, turning to her. “You and Dom have always seemed so… perfect.” His shoulders sank. “He clears a path and honors every move you make, but with Eames, wherever I step, it always happens to be right on his heels.”

She glanced at Dom, her own smile as mischievous as Paul’s would be. “Come with me.”

“Where? At _this_ hour?”

“Oh, Arthur, you don’t need a chaperone. You’re an adult.”

He let her pull him to his feet, his ribs rebelling in the corset. 

She rolled her eyes at his frown. “You have the soul of a man older than Dom. Come.”

She shoved him onto her bed before closing the door the behind them, snickering at Dom’s protests to see her leave. “He has no patience for privacy,” she explained, “and I know your wolf would soon join his prying.”

"Not if he wants my affections returned. Though, as of late he has been handling himself quite well." Arthur shouldered out of his dress and broke the strings on his corset, taking the deepest breath he could before collapsing back onto the hill of pillows with her cat in his arms. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“ _Everything_! I don’t think you’ve had a bad day in your life, let alone the storms I’ve weathered.”

She rested her cheek on his stomach, holding a pillow close. “Every day is it’s own challenge, Arthur. You forget my husband is an aged man and our children are sickly.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.”

She waved it away. “Dominic’s mother, if you remember her, she died last year.” She smirked wjhen, rather than feign condolences, Arthur held his tongue, remembering the cruel woman well. “Before that day, this palace, this family, and my husband were all stones, and I the flower jostled between them all. His sisters made plots against me, charges of infidelity, his brother in the Holy Mountains, at odds with my spells even more harshly than your Eames was.”

“For which I apologize a thousand times.”

“It remains the same,” she said softly. “At the head of every storm, there lies a prior generation of conflicting and battling winds and with their influence hanging over the heads of their children, there can be only more turbulent weather afoot. The Wolf King has the ghost of his father, Dominic has his mother’s.”

“But you all smile and dance together now?”

“Yes! I threatened to curse every womb and every seed in this family if they did not let my husband and I have our space, to formulate a marriage of _our_ making, and to govern and to raise our children _our_ way, not theirs.”

Arthur huffed. “I’m no wielder of magic, and Eames needs no ghost or family to fuel his tempers and whims.”

She hummed. “Where is his temper now?”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, propping himself up on his elbows, but he caught her knowing look. He blushed, lying back down. “I… He… No. I…”

She reached for his hand and rubbed his palm. “Oh there it is!”

“Funny.” He huffed. “Imagine, living in a world where men acted out of the simple kindness of their hearts and not with rewards in mind.”

She sighed wistfully, teasing. “That is why we have sons. Sons of the two greatest kings in the western realms. May they be strong in their hearts and soft in voice and pride.”

“Hear, hear, _damn it all_.” He glared at her chuckling. “At least someday my Albert will have a kindred spirit in your James and Phillipa. My cubs, I am not so sure.”

“I have full faith in them as well. Their mother holds every one of the most key positions of influencing rule, both as Queen and now as the strongest member of Eames' council. They will know from you not to second guess their spouses or treat them unfairly.”

Arthur looked at her as she yawned, wishing they could remain suspended here in time for just a little while longer. He studied the ceiling. “I missed this.”

“More than anything,” she agreed. “Letters can’t compare.” She sat up suddenly, eyeing him, her brow playfully arched. “ _Particularly_ letters that never reach their intended recipient. Tomorrow, I must speak with your Eames on this matter.” She rose, offering him a hand. “Shall I be harsh with him or soft?”

He laughed, cradling her purring cat close as she paced with mock vengeance. “I love him,” he whispered, seemingly to no one but himself. “Am I a fool, Mal?”

She paused in front of him, holding his cheeks. “No.” She kissed his forehead. “Only a fool would treat that love as if it weren’t the most important thing in the world, but you have always held it highest over all things. You would not be so torn as you are if it did not matter to you. Continue to nurture it, guard it.”

He covered his hidden locket against his chest. “I do.”

“Good. Now go to your fool. I fear he and Dom may be sparring again.”

“Why must alphas always play at killing each other?”

“Werewolf blood breeds aggression.”

“Ah! And thus we find the culprit of our shared troubles,” Arthur sighed, slipping on her robe as they both returned to the parlor.

+

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!
> 
> Apologies for typos and errors! It'll get proofread in the morning! @_@
> 
> For now, I hope you all enjoy! >:3 And thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and love! <33333

+

  

“And so you see, fine ladies and gentlemen,” Dominic said, circling his guests in the expansive, sunlit study, “were it not for King Eames’ love of flora, we would not have this most greatest wonder in our midst.”

The crowd gasped at Dom pulled away the drape covering the somnacin plant in its glass case.

Arthur shifted on his feet, his hands idly holding his ribs in yet another corset and elaborate dress. A week had passed and he was well over ever wearing a tight fit to his clothes every again. He glanced to Eames at his side, wary of Eames’ unreadable expression.

Servants of the Runes King offered each person a small bundle of the leaves with its plucked thorns housed within.

“Take one,” Dominic encouraged, “and steep it in a bedtime tea, or burn it at your bedside, and dream as you have never dreamed before.”

Mallorie placed a little bundle in Arthur’s hand. “It is truly an altogether different world in the realm of dreams. Who knew that such a thing were even possible? That we could… unlock new frontiers in our minds, see new worlds, _build_ new worlds and new beings,” she said fervently, her eyes alight with passion.

“I know that feeling well,” Eames replied, taking the bundle to scent before he placed it on one of the servants’ trays to be returned. “But alas, this plant is not for every soul to consume. It can be an untamable beast, Mallorie.”

“Oh but you and Arthur must explore the somnacin’s magic further to find just the right means for reaching the realm of dreams. Dom and I have a greenhouse for growing the plant so that we may dream together every evening. It’s exquisite.”

Arthur’s brow rose. “Everyday? Oh, Mallorie, but… you just had a child?” His heart sank as she looked to him with confusion. “This plant can be dangerous, Mal. Eames and I, we… When we dreamt together, it made me ill, and separately,” he paused, glancing at Eames before he took Mallorie’s hands, imploring her. “I dare not seek to command anything of my older sister, but you and Dom must be careful.”

“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed, “we knew well such sickness, but that only drove us to keep pressing further until we could withstand it. What could possibly go wrong? It’s harmless.”

Dominic agreed. “It’s true. I had hoped to share dreams with you, Eames. And I am certain Mallorie and Arthur also enjoy dream building together? But if you must insist…”

“We must,” Eames stressed softly.

“Pity.” Dominic tsked, shaking his head. “I had thought you to be a fearless king of adventure, Eames,”

Eames took the slight in stride, smiling. “I do so truly  _loathe_ disappointing you above _all_ others.”

Arthur watched Eames glare at the back of Dom’s head when he and Mallorie were pulled into conversation with several curious betas.

Eames unclenched his fists, taking a deep breath.

Arthur took his hand, guiding them away from any listening ears. "This isn't good, Eames. I worry about them."

"I do as well."

"She could have endangered the life of her child," he sighed, raising a hand to his forehead. "This isn't like her at all. Should I try to talk to her again?"

It nearly broke Eames' heart to hear Arthur so frantic. He held his face, caressing his cheeks. "Sleep on it. It's clear that they do not wish to hear such warnings at present. They both look to be in good health, at least. Perhaps we alone may be anomalies when it comes to somnacin."

Arthur shook his head. "I only hope my fears are exaggerated."

"Let's not stress just yet. Mallorie's as sharp as you are." He hoped. 

“Thank you,” he heard Arthur whisper close. Eames glanced at him and tilted his head. “Whatever for, darling?”

“ _For keeping your promise to me_.” He squeezed Eames’ hand, the gesture saying more than a thousand words.

Eames watched Arthur move to where Mallorie stood admiring another bizarre plant in a glass case. He smiled when Arthur glanced back at him, feeling his cheek redden as he cleared his throat and joined them.

+

 

If Runes hats didn’t shield from their cold, blistering winters, Eames would have snapped and torn his off in front of the whole court, etiquette and brotherly alliance be damned.

The snow had fallen around them like flower petals all day and now, after more parlor dancing and court ceremonies, they all gathered in the snow-covered southern garden, their eyes to the heavens as Arthur introduced them all to the night sky’s constellations.

“And what is that one there?” One nephew asked, pointing to a cluster of stars just above the line of trees of the east.

“Demetrius’ Chariot.” The wind whipped Arthur’s hair about his hooded cloak, his eyes bright as he seemed to make the constellation glow as he pointed out and traced all the stars together. “It is said that he and his winged stallion, race across the skies of the Igokra Sea, shielding the Sude people from our northern winter winds. You see, the cluster of stars just beyond it is Lady Onyx, his soulmate.”

“Pardon,” Eames heard Dominic whisper beside him, tapping his knee for his attention, “you are looking at the wrong star.”

Eames scowled, finding Arthur’s revelation of the Runes King’s fluency to the true, but he bit back his words, his expression soften at Dominic’s grin.

“I know. It is it difficult to see much beyond the… radiating spirit that your heart orbits around. It is that way with Mallorie too. Tomorrow night, she will illuminate this sky with her brilliant fireworks, to mark the Winter Solstice, and I will see none of it for the sight of her in all of her majesty.”

Eames cleared his throat, nodding curtly.

“And for as long as you and I have fought and shed blood, gained and lost and gained again our borders, I can very well understand why you would be so enthralled by him. It is clear he was quite… _persuasive_ ,” he purred, full of lewd suggestion, “in guiding you to where we are now, here at last.”

Eames swallowed his growl, remembering that Arthur was near him with his audience. Nevertheless, his glare cut Dominic deep.

“Forgive me,” Dom whispered back. “I do not mean to dishonor him with my words. Our spouses simply do not have the same tools as we when aiding us in our decisions, particularly when we alphas have our minds set for war. They know that one thing and one thing only will ever cut through a war fog. I must admit I did not peg little bookworm Arthur as a seducer.”

Eames meant to argue, but he held his tongue for a moment, stunned, for he saw only himself reflected and echoed with those words. Had he not viewed Arthur in much the same way? Had he never been lewd when speaking of him? His glare hardened, but not with more anger. With shame. “He used his brain. _And_ his heart…” He smiled, taking a moment to admire Arthur and breathe in his crisp, vibrant scent in the cold air. “And he forced me to use mine, good King. I found myself wildly incompetent for not doing so sooner… Hm.”

He stroked his beard, leaned in close to Dom, as if to share some deep and critical secret, their hats pressed together ridiculously, but he ignored them. “You see, it's simple really. When I stopped to look at Arthur, to _really_ look at him, past all of the glamour and intrigue of being an omega, I saw someone who, without his… very ‘seductive’ intellect and his persuasive compassion, could truly grow into a Queen for the ages. And while winning wars is indeed a specialty of mine, I think for both your sake and mine, it is critical I share this advice with you. I learned the hard way, and am still suffering for it.”

“Say no more,” Dominic muttered, sitting back, his brow rising. “I see your point. You are much more wiser than I thought you would be.”

"Is that a compliment?"

Dominic laughed, rising to follow the court when Arthur moved to guide them to another spot of the gardens where a sextant had been made ready for demonstration, saying not another word.

 

Eames could not find rest easy that night.

He lie awake, his thoughts and circling— _orbiting_ —around one central force. Arthur's scent, his image, the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch… He would give anything to have just one chance of turning towards the pillow beside his and finding his omega sleeping there. Just one chance to say… But Eames’ words had so often been the spark to their dynamite.

He felt lost, without knowing what could bring them both together again.

And yet, he lay awake in the bed, his eyes on the ceiling's shadows, happy. There was no paradise beyond the reach of Arthur's heart, but he knew that now. He knew that well. He wanted nothing and no one but Arthur. Not land or hellish herb for dreaming, not more gold or titles, not even his crown. He had been an alpha and werewolf king with a feeble heart so easily swayed by conquest and lust, but Arthur had molded it, patiently and unforgiving, into a heart strong enough to honor Arthur's love and keep it closest.

And he knew now that nothing could change that fact.

+

 

Arthur was already wincing by the time he stepped into the parlor to meet Eames for the summit’s third day of activities. He paused, forgetting his sore ribs the moment he saw Eames speaking in a hushed voice with several of his attendants. The boys were carrying something large, covering in a thick sheet. “What is that?”

Eames hurried to him with a smirk as the attendants struggled, following him. He pulled back a corner of the sheet, grinning as Arthur gasped.

“Where did you get this book?”

“Hush, hush, Arthur.” Eames glanced around them, blocking the book from the guards’ view.

Arthur’s eyes widened as he pulled back more of the sheet, the elaborate binding and painted covered, the golden page trims and their hidden pictures. “This is… The only written history of the continent, written and compiled by nearly every kingdom to rise and fall in the last dozen centuries, it’s…  been ‘lost’ for decades now, and…” He looked at Eames’ excited face. “ _Did you steal this_?”

“Well…” Eames shuffled his feet.

“ _Did you steal this for me_?”

“ _No_ , I simply found it and then lost it again in… in your library… when we return home.”

Arthur laughed breathlessly, his eyes narrowing at Eames as a smile formed.

Eames hummed, pointing his chin at the attendants to quickly carry the book into Arthur’s room to store in one of his trunks. He leaned close, shrugging. “Better than somnacin, that thing. _Much_ better gift, in my opinion—”

He stumbled back with Arthur's weight suddenly upon him. The kiss to his cheek was so sudden, Eames stood stunned, holding Arthur's corseted waist. It lasted for only a moment, but it left him off balance and dazed.

Arthur smiled breathlessly, mirroring Eames’ flush. “There’s um… another small party, Majesty, in Mallorie’s chambers again, after the court ball is over.”

Eames stepped back. “Is that an invitation?”

The attendants were all eerily quiet now, listening. Arthur nodded still, his heart pounding.

“Will Dom and his cousins be there as well?”

“I don’t believe so?”

" _Excellent_ ," Eames purred. “I shall count the hours until I can be free of his irritating presence.”

 

The court ball proved, however, to be more lively than anyone had expected.

Wine poured from fountains, the floor filled with dancing and chatter. Arthur found himself sitting and watching, sipping his wine as Eames and Mallorie danced, her husband as well entertaining a cluster of generals near the musicians.

He wasn’t sure of what do with himself. His spirits had him wanting to attempt one of the dances, but he’d been bold enough for one day simply kissing Eames’ cheek. A shame indeed that he found himself considering the most trivial things in the world to be bold! But he was simply out of practice, in a plethora of things.  

His heart had been hardened for so long, he felt trapped behind glass, able to see and feel, but unable to access just what he wanted.

Mallorie sat beside him, still catching her breath after a fast-paced dance, wine sweetening her scent. “Have you and your alpha switched bodies, Arthur?”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned on the arm of his chair, propping her chin on her hand. “Think back to that first day with me. A court ball, dancing and wine and one lone, grumpy soul upon a throne and another,” she said, turning her gaze to Eames who stood laughing with a group of ambassadors, his eyes finding Arthur’s even through the crowds, “lost in the sight of him, his beauty. Will you go to him as he once did, searching for your scent and yours alone?”

She left him battling with himself to find the answer. But not for long.

He down his wine and stood, catching several eyes at once, including Dom’s, who shouted, “Have you a request, young one?”

He did. Damn his fear and damn time itself. He did not need to wait to be moved. He could do that all of his own and he would, no matter where it led them. Stepping graciously through the parting crowds, he approached Eames, his eyes on the waiting musicians. “La volta.” The hall filled with gasps. “Please.”

Eames hesitated at first, but the floor cleared for them, the court forming a captive circle as the drums, flutes, and strings began to play the intimate tune.

They danced on the edge of the crowd’s circle, falling into step as if they’d danced the volta a thousand times, and perhaps they had over the years. The only dance where they felt sure footed, unneeding of grace or fears of stepping on toes. Shoulder to shoulder, they circled and pranced, touching hands, smiling even as their hearts beat harder than the drums.

Arthur was lifted as Eames turned, his breath suspended in the air with him before his feet touched the ground again. He panted at the strength in Eames’ arms, his shoulders, his grip tight on Arthur’s waist as they spun faster. Breaking away, he circled Eames, surprised and thrilled by the predatory power he felt in that act of closing in on him. It coursed through his veins, warming his limbs, his chest near spilling from his bodice as he was caught and lifted higher still, their bodies pressing close enough to remember more stolen kisses and promises of company in the late night hours.

On and on, they twirled and danced close, in a forest of eyes and yet alone at sea.

 

Drunk on wine and floating higher than the snow clouds in the night sky they stumbled together down shadowy corridors, and past guards eyes never left their posts even as Arthur and Eames hurried past.

“Forgive me,” Arthur whispered close. “I should have thanked you better than I did for that most wonderful gift, my Eames.” He pulled his face to his, his kiss searching and hungry and hot, so familiar and yet so new that Eames forgot to kiss him back first. Those soft, plush lips pressed against his then, slowly devouring them, his tongue bringing a moan from deep in Arthur’s chest.

His back pressed to the massive window, his hands tugging at Eames to come closer.

His nipples harden, bare in the cold corridor as his dress and corset found themselves pooled on the floor at their feet. He moaned, gasping as Eames’ beard tickled down his neck, his hands searching for the ties in his stocking and codpiece.

“Eames…”

His head fell back. He shivered with those lips tracing his jaw before he was turned, his chest flush against the glass now. He rose on his tiptoes, his own hands searching now, grasping Eames’, their fingers lacing as his ass was filled with a sex so thick and so long missed and pined for that he sobbed, his omega sex weeping slick between his thighs as Eames pumped, harder… harder...

Arthur gasped, waking with a start. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, but his bed was still cool from the night air. He clutched at his nightgown, looking on the bed beside him to find himself totally and completely alone.

“Oh what a cruel, cruel dream after such a wonderful dance!” He flopped back down, covering his face in embarrassment for how heavily his heart was beating, his fever…

He hurried from bed to pull the drapes back from the closest window, using the moonlight to see what he already knew had to be true.

Arthur lifted his nightgown and saw that his pale inner thighs were damp with more than just sweat.

He righted his gown and sighed, leaning against the window in exhaustion.

“Oh Holy Mother, why must you complicate things? We were just beginning to kindle a little fire, but you demand an inferno, hot enough to burn a city!” He gripped his hair in frustration. “Well…” he glanced back over his shoulder at the empty bed. “I hope you’re happy, Great Mother. The heat cometh, and it is very, _very_ angry at me for my past neglect. Damn it all.”

+

 

The final days of their summit were days of several agonies. Arthur wanted so much to curl up in Mallorie’s bed and never leave on that last day, but it was time to return to his children and time to retreat to his ship quarters where he could weather out of the worst of his heat in peace and private.

“It’s bittersweet,” he mused, hugging Mallorie again as they spoke of his awaiting sons. “Promise me that you and Dom will come to Engston soon. I cannot stand so much time apart from you.”

“Of course. When our little ones are well in the spring, I think, then we will set sail.”

“Promise me.”

“You have my word. My most beloved brother.” She kissed his brow, hugging him tightly. “In the meantime you must write me everyday… but be sure to take care of your heat first,” she murmured, chuckling at Arthur's blush. “Be good to yourself.”

“Reconsider your relationship with the somnacin,” Arthur heard Dom say to Eames before receiving more hugs and well wishes from the man. “And you,” Dom said in Arthur's language, “continue to culture your Wolf. I enjoyed his company!”

“And I, yours,” Eames replied before Arthur could, stunning the Runes King. “You are not the only alpha with a trick or two up your impossibly large sleeves, good King.”

Dom gave a hearty laugh, squeezing Eames’ and Arthur's arms. “Charming,” he gritted out, forcing his smile as much as Eames was, “to the last breath… we can always hope.”

+ 

 

A storm brewed over the sea for the first five days on the voyage back to Engston.

Delaying them.

It was a nightmare.

Arthur moaned in his bed on the sixth day, torn between sickness from the merciless waves… and his heat.

It was worse than he could have imagined. His body throbbed, aching, to the point that tears clung to his eyes when he closed his legs, but he wouldn’t dare uncross them. Even after he’d given his attendants leave, to find refuge on the deck with fresh air and put distance between himself and Jeremy in particular, Arthur still sat rigidly on his bed, praying that the winds would blow harder. He needed his own bed in his own bedroom, locked away from… from the panting, growling wolf pacing the floor just beyond the wall at his back. In his rut.

He could hear Eames, swore that he could smell him too. That heady scent seemed to come through the boards.

Arthur refused to undress. He would keep his calm. As much as his body fought to rebel, he would remain in control. If Eames could do it, so could he.

But _why_ , really, he no longer knew. Why wait? Eames had fulfilled his promises, had given Arthur what he’d asked for… and if the dreams that plagued Arthur each night held any insight into Arthur’s mind and heart, then Eames had earned his love again, hadn’t he? What else could pass between him and Eames but this act of…reconnecting?

But how could he be sure that this was right?

What if it had been denied heat all long that had brought them together thus far?

Another bout of heat rolled through Arthur, leaving him moaning in pain as if he were once again sixteen and under the doctor’s knife. He needed comfort.

He needed…

“Eames.”

It was a plea, barely a whisper, but the room beyond the wall went silent as Eames ceased his pacing.

Arthur startled when the door burst open. Eames looked ravenous and _ravishing_ , to Arthur as he always did, but now, the alpha called to Arthur with his body and sharp gaze.

He welcomed Eames in without hesitation, fevered as Eames locked the door behind him.

When he smiled, Arthur could see that Eames’ fangs were still descended, his golden eyes assessing Arthur’s state. “You called for me… _my_ Arthur?”

“ _Yes_.” Arthur frantically lifted his tunic, untying his tights. He sat on the edge of the small bed and tore down his underwear. “Eames, I can’t wait any longer. Eames… It hurts, it hurts.”

Eames nearly drooled like a dog when Arthur opened his legs and touched himself, a hand over his hardening cock and balls as his other hand parted his aching flesh to show Eames how wet and famished he was. Eames pounced with a growl, on his knees, his fingers digging into Arthur’s thighs as his tongue pushed into Arthur’s sex. He moaned, feeling Arthur tremble under his hungry mouth.

Arthur panted, dizzy with the air now filled with the scent of his heat and Eames' rut.

When he began to sink to the floor, Eames caught him, lifting him back up onto the bed. He tossed Arthur’s legs over his shoulders to make sure he stayed in place this time before latching onto Arthur again, his tongue as deep as he could manage.

Being so roughly handled and devoured drove Arthur wild. “Eames, please, please! More!”

“It’s alright, my darling,” Eames rasped, climbing up to cage Arthur under his bulk. “Let your King, your _alpha_ , take care of you."

"Yes, please take me."

"You see this cock?”

Arthur shamelessly licked his lips, his cheeks red. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“I’m going to stuff it all in your little peach. That ought to soothe it just fine, being filled, don’t you think?”

Arthur came, sobbing then, his come spotting his garters and the buttons on his clothes.

“Look at how hard you make me, Arthur.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Yes,” Eames purred, stroking Arthur harshly. “Your dagger is indeed quite sharp.”

Arthur moaned, keening as Eames rubbed his heavy cock over his wet opening. “Oh… my goodness… Eames.” His mouth fell open as Eames breached him. It hurt, as it had the very first time their bodies joined. He could feel himself stretching as Eames worked his way in.

Eames shuddered out a deep, rumbling moan, nearly collapsing over him. “Sweet ambrosia. You are as a virgin to me once more. My beautiful, beautiful darling.” He growled, smirking. “Oh no, darling,” he sweetly cooed, thrusting shallowly. “You see? There’s no way I can possibly fit all of this cock in such a tight, little thing, can I?”

“Please!”

“You can feel how deep I am already." Eames ran a hand under Arthur's waist. "How further can I go, I wonder?”

“More, Majesty. Husband!” Arthur yelped when Eames fully encased himself, thrusting hard. Arthur was near sobbing when Eames pulled out again.

“Get this off. Hurry,” Eames ordered, helping Arthur to free himself of his restrictive belt and bodice as he tore off his own, ripping both their chemises.

He paused, seeing Arthur naked.

Hanging from a thin necklace was not only Mal’s pendant but the locket Eames had gifted Arthur for his birthday, when he’d been pregnant with Joseph.

Eames touched its jeweled surface, struck suddenly by the memories. The fear he’d felt throughout those months and the pain Arthur had endured, first for Joseph and then tenfold for Thomas, it all came back, making Eames eyes blur for a moment with unshed tears. All this time, throughout their differences and distance, Arthur had kept this locket over his heart.

One of Arthur’s slender hands covered his, gently guiding him to touch his fevered skin. The softness his body had had from having their last child and producing milk had all but vanished in the months they’d been apart. Arthur’s body was firm, tight save for his chest, his scent thick and bewitching to Eames’ senses.

As Eames pressed back into his heat, his hands covered Arthur’s lean waist, running down his groin and up his folded legs and down again to his ass. He pushed Arthur up the small bed with every hard, claiming stroke of his hips, holding Arthur’s legs high and wide.

They could both feel it, as if their hearts were between their legs, they could feel it as if Eames’ own heart was beating out of control. He was close, his knot would swell. How long had it been? How many sleepless night of tossing and turning, missing Arthur, staving off his rut… His knot would hurt, and with that he knew a seed would be planted. It was inevitable.

He groaned in agony as he withdrew halfway, stopping. “Arthur, I’m… I want…”

Arthur tried to lift his hips to encase Eames’ cock, but Eames gripped those hips and held him down. “Eames?”

“You know…what will happen if we…”

It took a small eternity for Arthur’s brain to process what Eames couldn’t say, but seeing Eames struggle and shake sobered Arthur quickly. He had a choice to make. It was his. He could say no and Eames would stop. Eames was on the brink of it now, waiting for Arthur to make up his mind… Arthur could say no and everything building between them could continue to flourish, his position as advisor could continue, but also… deep down… he did want to, _need to_ , say yes.

“Eames,” he panted. “Can you swear to me that…that what we have…what we’ve begun to build together…won’t change?”

Eames’ gaze was earnest even as his eyes glowed golden with the effort to keep himself from coming. “I swear. Arthur, I swear. You mean so much more to me than this.”

Arthur felt Eames begin to withdraw more. “No.” He took Eames’ hands and lifted his hips, his body swallowing Eames’ cock and squeezing around it, begging Eames, promising him that he wanted this too.

Eames moaned as he lowered his weight, burying himself deep. It was all he could stand. His knot swelled, larger than ever before. His arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist as he felt Arthur’s breath catch. Arthur hissed and whimpered, clutching Eames through the pain.

His release seemed to never want to end, leaving him with barely enough will power to keep his hips still as his cock throbbed. He kissed the tears from the corners of Arthur’s eyes and held him, trying his best not to collapse fully on top of him.

Arthur shaky hand found its way to Eames’ hair when Eames nuzzled his face and neck. His pulse was under Eames’ lips. Eames trailed his kisses down to his shoulder and bit him hard, making Arthur come. As Arthur sung his name, Eames could feel Arthur’s body contract around him in ways he never had before, as if Arthur were draining him of his blood, his soul, all that he had been and all that he was, Arthur took into himself.

This, Eames realized in wonder, _this_ was a true bonding. A bonding between mates destined for each other, that no country, or title, or pride, nor selfish ambition could ever break. Not a marriage contract, not even heats, could force this kind of bond. Through love and trust alone had this bond been solidified.  

In the chaos of his frazzled mind and panting, Eames felt Arthur’s slender fingers search his hand.

They slipped off his mother’s ring.

Eames watched Arthur study it for a moment. He took it, sliding it down Arthur’s finger and kissed his hand.

+

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES! It's starting to take forever to post updates! D: Life wants to go sideways nearly everyday, but I'm still cranking out whenever I can. ALSO for Black Mamba fans, the last two chapters are almost ready too!
> 
> Hmm.... What else? Oh right! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TAMAT9 TODAY, AND TO MYSELF TOMORROW! :D 
> 
> Enjoy, everybody!

* * *

++

+

 

They ran through the palace hand in hand after the welcoming parade.

Or rather, Eames nearly dragged a yawning Arthur through the corridors filled with familiar faces all bowing and ducking out Eames’ path toward the nursery.

The nursery which, Arthur was stunned into silence to find, was in total upheaval.

“Look at that,” Eames said, beaming as he squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Three little Eameses terrorizing their poor nurses. Do you ever have moments when you think this is all a dream, darling? Just look at how perfect they are.”

Arthur’s smile was slow coming, but his heart soared to hear Eames’ pride for their children. “More than I can say, husband,” he answered carefully, wincing when Thomas, whose pup form was twice as big as it had been, crashed into several servants in his excitement to see his parents. “Goddess bless…”

Eames turned Arthur in his arms, pressing him back against the doorframe. “And we’ll have more little ones, yes?”

Arthur guided Eames’ hands to his stomach, covering them with his own. His eyes studied their hands for moment before he looked at Eames. For the very first time Arthur saw a future with Eames and their children and he wasn’t afraid or hesitant to take that plunge. He had power to wield, and a true partner with which he could truly shine. “Yes. Yes we will.”

They didn’t make it inside the nursery, not until after they’d stumbled back to Arthur’s chambers and mated again, over and over, as if their heats had never ended.

+

 

Ariadne stood a little at a loss in her guest rooms in the palace. All around her, attendants, _her_ attendants, buzzed and hurried about here and there, preparing for the wedding. One she herself had been ready for for far too long.

Joseph and Thomas ran circles around her, giggling in their little doublets and hoses. Arthur held a sleeping Albert in his lap, juggling his quill and small ledger, smiling fondly at her. “After today, Lover’s Day will become the official day for weddings in Engston,” he teased. “You mark my words...”

With fingertips dipped in golden paint for Sansar tradition, she touched the embroidered shawl and sarong she’d wear over her wedding gown later as she paused in front of the table lined with her bridal ornaments and gifted jewelry from both Arthur and Yusuf himself.

There was a time when such things would have had her turning her nose away, discarding all glamor and ceremony for the more plain, more simple, more practical. She had been a fierce and aggressive girl in her youth and once freed from her former marriage, she’d grown strong willed and independent once more.

Well… That was before… him.

“ _Yusuf_ ,” she heard Arthur purr, bringing her successfully out of her daydreaming with his ever deepening voice and brightening smile, and a newly rounding belly to match.

Yusuf was the only man who could ever make her feel as if sharing a bond, having a mate for life were not a death sentence or punishment. He was a man who filled her heart with hope and cemented it with such a worldly yet humble disposition, whose age and wisdom had worn down the roughness of manhood and had enveloped her only in love and the highest honor.

“You simply radiate at the sound of his name,” Arthur sighed, his hand idly resting on his stomach before he smoothed out Albert’s dress and bonnet. “Goddess bless, this shall be a year overflowing with gifts, indeed for us all.”

She playfully scowled and rubbed at her blush as her ladies brought forth her wedding gown. She tilted her head, her heart seeming to skip a beat when she saw it. “Are those silk…”

“Interwoven to look like a dragon’s scales, but a bit more elegant? Yes,” he said, scratching through yet another item on his list. “I remembered that drawing of yours in the book of fairy tales you gave to the children from your own childhood. You had said her gown was your favorite, so…”

She huffed, shaking her head. “You are impossible, Arthur,” she sighed.

He paused and sat down his quill. “Have I done too much? I was… admittedly a mouse at my own wedding and planning yours has just been a dream, that… Just say the word and I can pull back.”

“No,” she said, smiling as she approached. She hugged his neck sweetly, kissing his ear as she whispered, “You are impossibly too good to me.” She stood back, admiring the seas of her and Yusuf’s favorite flowers and streams of vibrant red and pearl  lanterns carved to illuminate a forest on the walls and corridors leading down to the chapel where she was certain an even more magical sight awaited her.

“For my old friend turned newest sister? I’d give you the world.”

She eyed herself in front of the mirror. Even her chemise was elegant. “I feel a little… Well, I'm not sure, really. My first wedding, I could not enjoy and that marriage was so…” She shook her head and heard Arthur’s chair creak and the little pearls lining the formal silver and royal blue chlamys he wore over his loose, belted tunic clatter and ping together as he stood.

He hugged her waist with his free hand, his crown shining as he rested his chin on her bare shoulder. “It's far behind you.”

She wiped away a tear. “It diminished my spirit and tainted my heart.”

It angered her to still recall those days, those years, so vividly. “To think, you and I had stayed up in your room nearly half the night when I was sent to you, do you remember? We feared that you would end up caged as I was but instead, I found the door to mine forever opened, by your unwavering grace.” She paused, seeing how oddly Arthur was eyeing her. Her own eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What?”

Arthur busied himself for a moment with patting Albert’s when the baby stirred before he asked, “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but… what’s Yusuf like?”

She smiled. “You work with him everyday.”

“No, I mean… You know.” His eyes narrowed as he smirked. “What’s… he like, when you and he are alone together and his mind isn't racing with tax proposals?”

“Oh! _Arthur_ , I’m impressed.” She shrugged, lifting her arms to slip into the under layers of her gown. “However, I must confess, I do not yet know what he’s like. We’ve never…”

“No?” He had to look down at Thomas patting his leg, the boy’s rosy cheeks rounding with a pout. “No, Thomas, you heard Lady Catherine and your father _and_ my own instruction. No shifting today.”

“Mama,” he whined, rubbing his eyes cutely. “Please.”

“Tonight,” Arthur promised him sweetly, glaring at Joseph who was scratching the floor with a little rock near their toys. “Tonight you may shift before bed but you cannot before. Your attendants spent all of the last week making your suit. _And_ Joseph’s,” he said, making his voice louder to startle Joseph, who quickly hid his rock and rubbed at the ruined floor. “Behave, my princes.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” they said together, both pitifully sad now, but Arthur was eyeing Ariadne again, his brow raised at her in question.

She shook her head. “We’ve been waiting for… Well, tonight, I suppose, con...considering…” Her bodice was beginning to feel awfully tight at the thought, realizing that tonight would indeed mark the end of their lives as separate and courting beings. They would share houses now, and titles, a name… a bed. She took a deep breath. “I wonder how long it's been for him. I would hardly count my former husband’s attention as experience. We’ll end up bumbling through the night in embarrassment.”

Arthur laughed quietly. “Did I look so spooked on my own wedding day? I think the two of you will… find… your stride… in time. Or as soon as tonight, perhaps. The Duke is a very… capable and dedicated man when it comes to matters of state.” He smirked. “He shouldn't disappoint, I think. And you, with your knowledge of certain wooden toys and the books I know you stole when I was abroad, I think _he_ ought to be more nervous than you. You'll have him blushing for weeks on end, I suspect.”

Ariadne nodded slowly. “I like the sound of such a prospect.” She laughed with her ladies.

“Madam?” One asked, kneeling to stitch the hem of the dress, “Do you fancy having many children with the Duke or only a small few?”

Both Ariadne’s eyes and Arthur’s widened. She sputtered, glancing at him in time to see Joseph crash into a table when chasing Thomas, knocking over a vase that startle his brother into shifting to his wolf form, destroying his suit. The large cub whined, falling over Joseph into the spilled dirt and flowers, ruining Joseph’s clothes as well to Arthur’s dismay.

“Oh no!” Joseph sat up, his face losing his happy little dimples. “I make a mess, Thomas!” They gasped, looking to their mother.

She grimaced as Arthur turned his gaze heavenward. Joseph and Thomas both hurried to sit on the floor at her feet, hiding under her dress as Arthur gave a great sigh. “Arthur?”

“Yes,” he answered to the ceiling.

“Will you grant me one last wish?”

“What?”

“Forbid me from having children, please.”

He snorted and dropped his gaze to his sons peering out at him from under Ariadne’s gown. “Whatever for? Wouldn't you like to go grey at twenty as well from the stress?”

“I have a feeling Yusuf may not have the heart for so many ripped suits.”

He hummed, scowling down at the pup the size of a knee high dog standing on hind legs, licking Arthur’s hand in apology, his little cries breaking every heart in the room, save for Arthur’s. “Did I tell you, Ariadne, Eames and I are praying for girls from here on out?”

She only grimaced harder, her thoughts of tonight for now thankfully distracted as her high spirits returned. “If only that made a difference. I did try to send you crashing off a balcony when we were children.”

“Damn, that's true,” he sighed at Albert as the baby yawned at him. “We're all doomed, apple.”

+

 

Yusuf's heart seemed to wither for the hundredth time that morning when a thought broke through his excitement. “Majesty?”

“No.” The King continued his pacing around Yusuf and his grooms as they sewed the Duke into his doublet. He pointed at Yusuf’s nose when Yusuf tried to argue. “Yusuf, hush.”

He scowled. He knew it was for the best, but come hell or high water or the greatest day of his life still he could not rest. “I forgot to sign those contracts you sent.”

Eames glared, still looking like the boy Yusuf had cultured, sharp in the eyes like his father but gentle in his smirk. “Stop. My Arthur took care of it.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Majesty, have you forgotten that—”

“That my Athur drafts up proposals when we make love or counts figures _aloud_ in his sleep, no.” He laughed, squeezing Yusuf’s shoulder. “Relax, old man. All the meetings, all the signings and draftings have either already been taken care of between Arthur and I, _or_ they will be moved to fit in a holiday for you and your bride long enough that you will _both_ return grey templed but happy by its end. Now not another word about work.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” He sucked in his stomach for threading and hooking of clasps down the front of his doublet. “But, there is also the question of taxes from the treasurer we still consider.” He blushed as Eames sobbed and tossed up his hands.

“Good heavens! Although…” Eames paused, turning to him with a dreaded expression.

Yusuf shifted his weight, nervous. “Oh dear. What did we forget?”

“Oh, it is a matter of the highest importance. How could we have possibly overlooked it? And here I had possessed full faith in Arthur to take care of every matter.”

Yusuf stilled the seamstress’ hands, ready to run to his office and summon his his aides at once, trousers be damned. “Yes?”

“Oh yes.” Eames stuffed Yusuf's mouth with a handkerchief and kissed his cheek. He pointed a threatening claw at the seamstresses to continue their work before he patted Yusuf’s cheeks. “Today, you marry your sun, your moon, and your stars. One more thought of work and I will throttle you to the chapel, dearest Duke.”

Yusuf scowled, freeing his mouth. “Funny, your Majesty.” But he could not remain in irritable spirits. The handkerchief the King had grabbed was one of hers, the little A in each of the four corners stitched by her own hand.

He pressed it to his heart, petting its silk. “I cannot recall the number of years spent resigned to thinking that I would never have reason to love again,” he mused. “She as well, I imagine.”

It was truly terrifying. Most days, Yusuf could not concentrate on anything other than the sound of her sweet voice, the soft rustling of her gowns, or her quiet sighs, nor think beyond her scent in his nose or how the sun cast the faintest shadow upon her breast and rich, silky hair… He would surely make a fool of himself tonight and all days and years to follow. Give him a diplomatic challenge or civil unrest at the borders any day and he could tackle them, but being married to Lady Ariadne, that was a whole other matter.

“Would you and Lady Ariadne have even considered marriage, were it not for my busybody Queen catching you two snogging in the office? He is one stubbornly persuasive little devil if not anything else.”

“This is true, but I'm glad to have had help. She and I had both had our reservations about going forward.”

“And with good reason,” Eames growled. “That… dog piss of a cousin of mine. One of Peter Browning’s bastards I should have banished right along with the lot of them rather than letting him roam free within the realms from court to castle tarnishing whatever good there was left of his name.”

“You gave him a chance to make a gentleman of himself, Majesty. I would not lay fault at your feet. My only hope is that I may restore her happiness.”

“Consider it already done. You made the finest husband and father then and shall be one for all others to model henceforth. Well,” he teased, winking, “except for me, of course.”

Yusuf eyed him flatly. “Of course, Majesty.”

+

The lanterns casts the chapel in magical shadows and a golden glow in the early evening.

Yusuf could not help but fidget with his sashes at the altar and the jeweled hilt of his ceremonial sword at his hip, his heartbeat quickening with every second that past as the priests performed their rituals, uniting him and Lady Ariadne in marriage.

If he were honest with himself, in spite of the day to day planning and the execution of the King’s own events, the Duke was not a lover of such long procession and ceremony. A small chapel, even the matchbox of a chapel in Ariadne’s manor, and a priest, with Eames and Queen Arthur there with them, and maybe the pack and council perhaps would have done the job perfectly for him. Ariadne as well, who also preferred a more modest spread.

However he found himself unable to complain with her standing with him, hand in hand, in her veil and her painted hands and a gown that rivaled his own suit. The lanterns, the guests, the magnificent church, it all seemed as if a fairy tale and it was fitting for them. Their finding one another and falling so deep into their blessedly uncomplicated love, it was indeed like a fairy tale.

Through her veil, she was smiling softly at him, but squeezing his hands. The King leaned close, clearing his throat as Arthur grinned behind Ariadne.

The hall was silent, waiting for Yusuf to cease his daydreaming in favor of speaking.

“Ah…” He swallowed, glaring when Arthur snickered.

Ariadne leaned in close, whispering. “You do?”

“Yes!” Yusuf proclaimed, blushing as the guests quietly murmured in fond laughter. “I… I do.”

He could almost feel the sighs of relief around him. He blushed at his bride, his heart lightening by her efforts to contain her laughter.

Ariadne fought the urge to keep her eyes down to shield herself from to world seeing her own nerves, but there was more to it. Her hands trembled in Yusuf's, her spirit thrumming with excitement as the priests performed more rights with her now. “I do.”

Tonight, Arthur had planned a romantic, but stiffly formal reception for them, but they'd had other plans. There would be time for romance, indeed, it had been there from the start of their secret courtship, but what would truly delight them now, was to share their _wolf_ forms. Neither Ariadne nor Yusuf had chosen to be wolves and for so long, they'd had fought against revealing those sides of themselves with as much effort as possible, but now she was ready to take that leap with him, to grow into her powers as he had.

+

 

Arthur sat scanning the crowds at the reception, ignoring Eames as he stuffed his face full of duck.

“Darling,” the King warned him, “believe me, they're not here.”

“Well, where could they be? You don't think they're… _already_ …”

“ _Bonding_?” Eames snorted. “If this were you and I in celebration of our union, as we are now and as they have been for some time now, where would _we_ be?”

Arthur sat back, his frowning softening into a smirk. “Your points are valid, husband,” he muttered, his eyes still narrowing as he glanced at Eames.

Eames cleaned his hands and mouth before kissing Arthur's cheek. “Shall we bow out as well, wife?”

Eames’ hand lay heavy and warm on his belly. Arthur smiled and shook his head even as he rose with Eames to leave, a warmth already building beneath his thick clothes.

+

 

Ariadne was waiting for Yusuf with her horse tittered to a tree, their ladies and grooms already waiting by a carriage with spare clothes. He tied his horse next to hers, letting them graze together.

“This is a perfect evening, isn't it?” He moved her hood back from her face, kissing her deeply against the nearest tree, his hands slipping under her cloak to squeeze her little waist. He felt breathless as their lips parted.

She closed her eyes and pulled him by his hands towards the thicker woods.

He chuckled. “Ready, my Lady?”

She hurried into the forest without warning, laughing as she disappeared past a thick cluster of bushes.

He found only her shaded clothes when he followed after. Up the hill, she stood, four-legged with a rich, clay colored fur, and one hind paw, he was charmed to see, was snow white.

Her tail was slightly tucked, her ears a little rigid, until Yusuf shifted with her, shaking out his grey and mahogany coat, his tail wagging like a dog’s as he trotted up the hill to her. He nuzzled her cheeks and neck, and nipped at her ear tenderly, happy when she relaxed and toppled him over before she took off deeper into the woods.

He huffed, shaking grass from behind his ear as he stood, and caught her peering at him from behind a bush, so playful and alive in her wolf form. He ran to her, then, joining in on her game of chase and tag through the forest until at last they reached the cottage hidden away, where their servants were already settling into the nearby house, their drapes drawn, granted them full privacy as Ariadne and Yusuf shifted back.

He hesitated, still unsure about walking even the little ways to the cottage nude, but he paused when she took his hand.

“You know,” she said behind him, still out of breath, “we don't have to go in just yet.”

He hummed, never daring, even now, to turn to her and see her unclothed, as if they were still courting. He startled then, remembering his own body and moved to cover his front.

Only, she pressed against his back, kissing his shoulders softly, his hands taking his. “Shall we play some more?”

It the most erotic thing Yusuf had ever heard, and coming from that soft, small voice, he nearly fainted, but he cleared his throat, his eyes still closed. But he turned to her nonetheless and held her close.

Her huffed laughter brought a blush to his cheeks. He looked at her, struck by her beauty. Her hair loose and wild, her skin slight in the bright moon through the shadows of the overhanging trees… Her nipples were hard against his hairy chest before she stepped back and began to shift again.

She nuzzled his hand before leaping away to a cluster of trees, a wolf, but still her eyes held a fire Yusuf was entranced by as she peered at him over her shoulder, her tail swaying.

He joined her without a second thought, his paws leaving soft tracks on the damp moss and dirt as they hurried back into the thick of the forest.

+

 

Arthur refused to let his nerves show. He had done this enough times by now to be more at ease with his position, and yet he still remembered that first meeting as Regent as if it were still happening now. He sat watching the proceedings with his back straight, shoulders tense under his loose, golden tunic but his head was held high, his olive branch crown sparkling and his quill moving gracefully across his parchment as he took notes.

At the opposite end of the table, however, Eames was slumped in his own chair, nearly dozing while his treasurer bickered with his generals.

“Your Majesty,” his most weathered general spoke, his fists propped on the table as he stood, “while I obviously support the Queen’s efforts for peace with the Runes King, we stationed soldiers and our men grow restless daily. You're paying able bodied men, I say the very best of men, to grow soft in belly and earn their bread through boredom.”

“Which,” the Duke of Stoneborough cut in, “is far less expensive than keeping them on campaigns, Gracious Majesty.”

“They aren't lapdogs,” the general argued back, followed by low murmurs from his fellow generals.

The King nodded slowly as he sat up more. “Indeed they are not. However it is clear that the Duke is also correct. Lord Yusuf have you the latest report?”

“Yes, Majesty.” Yusuf rifled through his documents, his new wedding band glistening when caught in the early sun’s light. He adjusted his glasses, reading, “In the last three months alone, trade between our realms and Runes has generated a sixty percent increase in revenue here and is expected to plateau at thirty-five percent, come year’s end.”

“Compare that to where we were last March,” Eames told the scowling general. “We do best at peacetime. Of course,” he continued, holding up his hand to stop the general from speaking, “that is not to say that all war is dead. It is our goal in this new year that our armies and our navy shall turn its eyes towards aiding in international conflicts where they may arise _and_ we also must envision a future where our lands and borders _and_ ports abroad shall be flanked with a military presence as well.”

The council erupted in inquiries but briefly, their gazes traveling with Eames’ towards Arthur as he stood.

Their faces were alight with fondness, unable to maintain the council’s many irritations at the sight of Arthur’s little belly so round under his braided belt.

“Thank you, your Majesty. What the King is proposing, noble Generals, is an army, small in size but no less skilled, whose interests would be solely in aiding and protecting the people, working alongside them in times of conflict and natural disaster as a national guard and with a division trained exclusively for a reserve army in the event that such is needed.” He walked as he spoke, his hands clasped under his belly.

And like hawks his cluster of aides were ready to circle him and gather round the table with their maps and a chair Arthur had not asked for, as he paced. He propped his arm on the Earl of Green’s chair and pointed to respective coastal and city points where Xs marked the spots. “These will be permanent bases, you see, which will not only house and train the soldiers but within these lands their families may find lodging as well.”

The council all leaned forward to examine the maps thoroughly.

Arthur caught Eames staring. He moved to stand beside his chair, warmed when Eames gave up his seat for him and rested his heavy hands on Arthur’s shoulders, playing with the little frills lining the swooping neckline of his chemise. Arthur gripped the hem of his tunic under the table, his skin tickled by Eames’ touch. The meeting could not drag on longer. They would both perish if it did.

Eames’ thumbs were petting circles up and down the back of Arthur’s neck and shoulder blades, his claws teasing Arthur with their sharpness and with a certain promise as one caught in a frill and tore its stitch, when Eames paused.

He was looking towards the door before the guards swing them open for the messenger to hurry through. He kept his hands in Arthur’s shoulders to keep him from standing in alarm with the others when the bloody and battered boy collapsed before them.

Eames growled at Arthur’s aides to help the boy into the chair they'd carried. He knelt in front of him. “Send for water and bread. What hell have you escaped from, boy?”

The boy shook his head, his eyes only seeing Arthur as he stammered.

He found himself standing as the boy spoke in his language, his heart falling even before the boy could gather his words.

“Prince Gerard has… be… betrayed King Michel and… Prince Paul.” He nearly choked on the water he was given. “Prince Gerard, he… He has made an alliance with King Robert.”

“But why?” the Duke of Roe grabbed the boy’s collar as Arthur quickly explained the boy’s words to the council. “What sort of fool would break _our_ alliance in exchange for one with King who has no land and no kingdom at all?”

Eames had to wrestle the Duke’s hands away from the boy. Behind him, his fellow werewolf, the Earl of Green snarled at the council to make them stand back. He brushed a spot of dried blood from the boy’s hairline, finding a small gash underneath. “Whose messenger are you, lad?” He turned to Arthur when the boy only shook his head. “Am I not translating it well?”

He paused when the boy raised a shaky hand past him, as if unseeing all but Arthur.

Arthur approached slowly, taking the bloody ring with numb fingers. “Michel’s…”

The hall erupted in protests. Eames stood at a loss, his frown severe. “How did this coup transpire?”

The boy shook his head, struggling as he at last looked to Eames. “We were… attacked in the courtyard before a treaty was to be signed between King Michel and Prince Gerard to end the civil war and form alliance against King Robert. Only… it seemed when Prince Paul arrived, everything changed.”

Eames’ eyes glowed. He turned to the other werewolves present from his pack. “Go to Milecomté at once. If your passage is barred, send word without hesitation. You," he said, pointing to the generals, "we will reconvene to further discuss both this situation and the expansion of my forces. Go with the servants, boy. They will provide you with lodging."

He paused, turning to Arthur as the council and servants all scattered to follow his orders.

Arthur was sitting in a chair not far. His fingertips were still stained with drying blood as his hands splayed over his stomach, unconsciously guarding their child, his face unreadable as he stared at the ring he'd placed on the table.

Eames stood beside him, unsure with how to move forward, but one thing was clear in his mind. "Arthur, please retire to your rooms to rest. We must not allow such stress to linger in your heart. It will be days until we may know what's happened. I cannot allow you to overburden yourself with worry until then. Now more than ever."

Arthur shook his head. "I need to know what's happening to my family, Eames. All my years, I thought Michel to be...cruel and heartless. And that Gerard was simply a man consumed by cold indifference, but this...  How could I have been so wrong? If he has turned on my brothers, if they... If _Paul_ is..."

“Have patience, and have faith, my darling.”

He hugged his stomach tighter, his shoulders sinking. “Pray that’s all we need.”

+

 

Arthur's mind remained a war of worries as the days past and more rumors of conflict spread throughout the kingdom, but he still smiled when Eames arrived for breakfast. “Good morning.”

He startled nearly out of his chair when Eames hurried forward and knelt in front of him, his face pressed to Arthur's round belly.

Arthur combed his fingers through the King’s hair, frowning then. “Unbelievable. You’ve been waiting for exactly five months to do this, haven’t you?” He watched Eames take deep inhales around his entire stomach. “We know already from my state that they are a human child, but what sex, Eames? Well? What is this one, then?”

Eames sat back and sighed miserably. He shook his head.

Arthur’s shoulders sank. “Oh Eames, not another boy! Lady Catherine won’t survive _another_ alpha male in that nursery—”

He snorted, unable to keep up his act. “Girl.”

“—and we…” Arthur sputtered. His voice cracked. “We’re having a girl?”

“We’re having a girl.” He beamed, taking Arthur’s face in his hands. He kissed his forehead when Arthur peered at his stomach, his heart soaring. “We're going to have a girl, Arthur. God damn finally.”

 

 

 


End file.
